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CATHEDRAL  DAYS 


A  TOUR  IN  SOUTHERN  ENGLAND 


BY 


ANNA  BOWMAN   DODD 

AUTHOR  OF  "  THREE  NORMANDY  INNS,"  "  ON  THE  BROADS,' 
"gLORINDA,"  "sTRUTHERS,"  ETC 


EUustratjB  from  ^ftetcljeg  anfi  ^ftotoflrapfjs 


E.  ELDON   DEANE 


NEW  EDITION 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND   COMPANY 

1899 


5241      3 


Copyright,  1887, 
By  Roberts  Brothers. 

Copyright,  1899, 
By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company. 

Ail  rights  reserved. 


John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


}  1 


PY 


ISetitcatton. 


To  SiLVIE,  OF  SOSIEGO, 

THE    FRIEND    FOR    HOLIDAYS,    AND    ALL 
OTHER    DAYS. 


New  York,  1899. 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arcliive 

in  2007  witli  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.arcliive.org/details/catliedraldaystouOOdoddiala 


NOTE. 

The  names  of  the  various  Inns  mentioned  in  the 
text  are  mainly  fanciful,  and  for  obvious  reasons. 
The  frequent  changes  of  both  management  and  name 
of  hotels  or  hostelries  would  make  any  attempt  to 
guide  a  traveller  inevitably  misleading. 

A.  B.  D. 


CONTENTS. 


Chapteb  Page 

I.    The  Project 7 

n.    Arunuel 13 

III.  Slindon  and  Bogxor 47 

IV.  Chichester 68 

V.    Goodwood 94 

VI.    Fareham.  —  Waltham.  —  The  Valley  of 

THE  Itchen 110 

VII.    Winchester 135 

VIII.    A  College  and  an  Almshouse   ....  161 

IX.    Hursley  and  Romsey  Abbey 190 

X.    Salisbury 214 

XI.    Stonehenge.  —  Warminster.  —  Longleat. 

—  Frome 247 

XII.    Bath 274 

XIII.  The  Drive  to  Wells.  —  An  Enchantp:d 

Night 298 

XIV.  Wells,  an  Enchanted  City 314 

XV.    To  Glastonbury 344 

XVI.    To  Exeter 366 

XVn.    Farewell  to  Ballad 386 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Exeter  Guildhall Frontispiece 

Arundel  Castle 14 

Old  Parochial  Chujich,  Arundel 34 

Chichester  Cross 74 

Chichester  Cathedral 82 

Old  Sculptures,  Chichester 90 

Old  Houses  in  Close,  Winchester 142 

Winchester  Cathedral 144 

Chantries,  Winchester 156 

St.  Cross  Hospital 180 

RoMSEY  Abbey,  Transept  and  Nave 206 

Nun's  Door,  Romsey  Abbey 210 

Salisbury  .         214 

Salisbury  Cathedral,  from  the  Cloister     .     .  232 

Gateway  to  Cathedral  Close,  Salisbury     .     .  244 

Stonehenge 254 

Longleat  House 262 

Old  Roman  Baths,  Bath 292 

Bishop's  Palace,  Wells  Cathedral 332 

Wells  Cathedral,  from  Moat 338 

Wells  Cathedral,  from  the  Wells  .....  342 

Arch,  Glastonbury 357 

Tithe  Barn,  Glastonbury 364 

The  Nave,  Exeter  Cathedral 382 


CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE  PROJECT. 

/'~\NE  night  in  London,  in  the  crowded  latter 
^-^^  end  of  June,  a  small  number  of  us  were 
sitting  under  the  quiet  stars,  in  a  certain  friend's 
charming  garden,  after  a  long  evening  of  pleasure. 
There  had  been  music  and  talk  and  laughter,  into 
the  small  hours,  in  the  great  studio,  from  whose 
open  windows  a  few  of  us  had  stepped  forth,  at 
the  bidding  of  our  host,  into  the  coolness  and 
fragrance  of  the  night.  We  sat  under  the  trees 
near  a  trickling  fountain,  whose  liquid  voice  at 
first  was  the  only  one  which  filled  the  sweet  night 
air;  but  soon,  through  puffs  of  smoke,  others 
joined  in  its  babble.  The  talk  drifted  into  that 
closer,  more  intimate  form  of  conversation  which 
midnight  and  summer  in  conjunction  so  often  in- 
duce.     It  was  an  hour  for  confidences.     Caught 


8  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

in  this  embrace  of  night,  with  London  hushed 
and  still,  and  only  nature  stirring  in  mysterious 
whispers,  each  of  us  in  turn  had  been  involuntarily 
betrayed  into  an  avowal  of  his  personal  plans 
or  desires.  The  talk,  in  a  word,  had  come  to 
have  something  of  the  charm  and  something  also 
of  the  intimacy  of  the  confessional.  One  had 
proclaimed  his  approaching  nuptials ;  another  her 
forthcoming  book,  —  almost  as  great  a  venture ; 
a  third  had  expressed  his  secret  desire  to  run 
away  from  life  and  hide  himself  behind  the 
Rockies  or  under  the  shadow  of  the  Pyramids ; 
and  still  a  fourth  confessed  to  his  having  only 
recently  signed  a  Mephistophelian  bond  to  do 
that  very  thing,  to  go  forth  into  the  Great  Desert 
and  to  bring  back  something  of  its  desolation 
and   its   grandeur  in   verse. 

Boston  and  I,  having  some  years  ago  settled 
our  mutual  destiny,  having  no  book  in  view  and 
no  tragic  sense  of  unrest,  could  only  add  the 
comparatively  tame  and  commonplace  avowal  of 
our  modest  purpose  to  run  away  from  the  world, 
but  only  so  far  as  English  lanes  and  by-paths.  This 
announcement  was  the  signal  for  a  simultaneous 
attack,  for  an  explosion  of  advice.      If  there  is 


THE  PROJECT.  9 

any  one  thing  a  friend  thinks  he  can  interfere  with 
righteously,  it  is  another  man's  plans,  —  after  they 
have  all  been  settled  and  made. 

"  Of  course  you  '11  coach  it,"  briskly  said  the 
nearest  man,  in  a  tone  as  if  to  settle  the  matter. 
"  Go  alone  ?  Just  two  of  you !  Absurd  !  You  '11 
die  of  ennui.     Make  up  a  party." 

"  Only,  whoever  you  ask,  don't  make  it  a  party 
of  more  than  six,  and  don't  take  more  than  two 
ladies,"  —  this  from  a  deeper  tone  amid  the  shad- 
ows of  the  foliage. 

"  You  are  entirely  right,"  cried  a  third,  under 
one  of  the  farther  palms.  "I  never  knew  more 
than  six  to  get  through  a  trip  without  trouble.  One 
can  get  along  with  two  women,  but  more  —  '* 

Then  a  laugh  went  round,  which  died  into  the 
trickle  of  the  splashing  fountain.  Suddenly  some 
one  else  puffed  out  a  great  volley  of  smoke,  and 
began  again. 

"  And  don't  take  luggage.  Send  it  on  by  train. 
It's  a  wretched  nuisance,  always  slipping  about, 
and  it  fags  the  horses." 

'*  Why  go  in  for  England  ?  "  broke  in  a  new  voice ; 
"  it 's  beastly  tame.  The  Tyrol 's  the  best  driving, 
and  you  get  at  least  a  bit  of  drama  in  your  scenery,  — 


10  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

peasants  in  costume,  and  all  that.  England  has  n't 
any  scenery." 

"  It  has  cathedrals,"  I  ventured  to  suggest. 

"  Oh !  cathedrals  —  well,  so  has  France.  Now, 
there's  Normandy  and  Brittany.  No  one's  done 
that  yet  on  four  wheels,  and  it 's  crammed  full  of 
architecture." 

"  Horrible  waste  of  time,  —  England  !  " 

Whereupon  Boston  assured  the  company,  that, 
not  being  an  Englishman,  he  found  it  impossible 
to  agree  with  them ;  that  at  least  before  con- 
demning the  country,  he  proposed  to  know  some- 
thing of  its  beauties  and  defects,  and  further 
courageously  avowed  our  intention  of  "  doing  it " 
in  a  much  humbler  fashion  than  from  the  throne- 
like elevation  of  a  coach.  And  would  it  be  best  to 
hire  or  buy  our  modest  little  trap  ? 

Whereupon  there  was  a  chorus  of  disapproving 
comments. 

"  Oh,  you  '11  liave  to  buy,  out  and  out." 

"Horse '11  go  lame, -sure  to,  if  you  have  only 
one." 

"  If  you  don't  take  a  servant,  who  is  to  look 
out  for  you,  —  for  your  horse  and  your  luggage  ? 
Oh  no,  the  thing  is  n't  feasible.     Coaching 's   the 


THE  PROJECT.  11 

only  safe  or  comfortable  way.  Now,  I  know  a 
man  — "  And  the  voice  went  on,  with  admirable 
zeal  and  kindliness,  to  dilate  on  the  advantages  to 
be  derived  from  an  acquaintance  with  this  latter 
individual. 

But  better  even  than  this  kindly  meant  zeal  was 
an  invitation  from  one  of  the  older  gentlemen  to 
run  down  to  his  country-house  in  Kent  on  the  com- 
ing Sunday,  and  talk  the  thing  over  quietly. 

The  subject  was  canvassed  to  such  purpose  that 
we  ended  by  putting  ourselves  completely  in  our 
wise  friend's  hands.  He  decided  that  we  were  to 
depend  on  local  traps,  taking  a  horse  and  carriage 
from  one  town  to  another.  The  inns  all  along 
our  proposed  route,  which  was  to  include  the 
southern  cathedral  towns,  were  admirable,  and 
the  roads  were  perfect.  As  for  scenery,  while 
lacking  perhaps  the  wider  horizons  and  the  ro- 
mantic character  of  the  Northlands,  Southern  Eng- 
land was  delightfully  diversified  along  the  coast  by 
sea  and  land  views,  and  the  towns  were  charm- 
ingly picturesque.  Altogether,  our  friend  having 
travelled  over  his  own  country,  knew  it  and  loved 
it.  He  bade  us  God-speed  with  a  smile  prophetic 
of  our  coming  enjoyment.     We  were  to  go  by  train 


12  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

from  London  to  Arundel ;  and  thence,  from  that 
most  beautiful  of  the  Sussex  towns,  we  were  to 
start  forth  on  our  six  weeks'  driving-tour. 

Inside  of  twenty-four  hours  we  were  on  our  way 
to  the  Sussex  Downs. 


ARUNDEL.  13 


CHAPTER  II. 

ARUNDEL. 

A  RUNDEL  might  be,  and  doubtless  was,  the 
^  most  beautiful  of  the  Sussex  towns ;  but  as 
we  had  confided  to  each  other  before  we  left  Lon- 
don, we  should  only  stop  there  long  enough  to  hire 
a  horse  and  trap.  It  would  be  a  capital  place  from 
which  to  start. 

But  Arundel  itself  had  decided  quite  differently. 
It  was  a  charming  little  town,  —  a  fact  of  which  it 
appeared  to  be  almost  humanly  cognizant.  Like 
all  beauties,  conscious  of  its  attractions  it  resented 
being  used  for  purposes  of  mere  utilit}^  Was 
Arundel,  forsooth,  with  its  grassy  banks  and  its 
lovely  river,  its  fascinating  old  Elizabethan  streets, 
its  splendid  castle,  and  its  bran-new  cathedral,  to 
be  thus  snubbed  by  two  impertinent  transatlan- 
tic travellers  ?  Was  it  to  be  debased  to  the  level 
of  a  livery-stable  ?  Arundel,  fortunately,  was  a 
thousand  years  older  than  these  young  American 


14  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

upstarts.  She  knew  a  trick  or  two.  She  had 
not  gone  on  fascinating  all  England  for  centu- 
ries past,  without  having  learned  every  art  that 
belongs  to  a  consummate  coquette.  As  for  these 
young  Americans,  she  would  make  short  work  of 
them. 

And  she  did.  First,  she  presented  us  at  the 
railway-station  with  a  huge  bouquet.  We  could 
even  have  our  choice  of  three.  There  were  the 
masses  of  poppies,  dyeing  the  meadows  with  their 
scarlet  flames ;  there  were  the  fragrant  trim  hedge- 
rows, as  odorous  as  a  bride's  garland;  and  there 
were  also  the  low,  sweet-flowering  river-banks. 
These  floral  offerings  were  accompanied  by  a 
smile.  She  leaned  over  the  hill,  and  shot  it  down 
at  us  over  the  thick-clustering  roofs  and  chimneys, 
from  the  very  citadel  of  the  huge  and  noble  castle 
itself. 

Alighting  at  the  neat,  bright  Arundel  station 
was,  in  a  word,  like  being  dropped  into  the  midst 
of  a  blooming  garden.  What  with  the  odors 
and  honeysuckle  perfume,  the  dashing  sparkling 
river,  the  town  running  up  the  steep  hill  to  the 
castle's  turreted  walls,  the  rustic  setting  of  the 
outlying    farms,  the    velvety    hills   covered   with 


ARUNDEL.  15 

browsing  sheep  and  brilliant-skinned  cattle, —  an 
enchanting  vision  of  summer  and  of  picturesque 
beauty  appeared  to  have  stepped  forth  to  greet  us. 

"  I  think,  perhaps,  Boston,  we  might  stop  over 
one  day,"  I  remarked,  as  we  drove  through  the 
streets  of  the  town  to  our  inn. 

"  Yes :  it  would  be  a  pity  to  miss  seeing  the  place, 
now  we  are  here.  There  seems  to  be  a  good  deal 
in  it,  after  all,"  Boston  replied,  quite  as  if  we  had 
arranged  it  with  our  imaginations  to  find  it  inter- 
esting from  the  outset. 

The  glimpses  which  we  caught  of  the  town  on 
our  drive  up  the  steep  High  Street  were  of  the 
fragmentary,  incomplete  order  peculiar  to  such  ap- 
proaches. We  had  a  confused  sense  of  meadows, 
of  houses  closely  packed  together,  of  distant  vistas 
of  a  vast  park  with  the  downs  beyond  as  a  back- 
ground, and  of  the  great  castle's  turrets,  these 
latter  making  admirable  bits  in  perspective  along 
the  crest  of  the  hillside. 

Our  experiences  with  the  true  life  of  the  town 
began  with  the  entrance  into  our  inn. 

Quite  as  a  matter  of  course,  we  had  our  choice 
of  two.  To  have  only  one  inn  in  a  town,  and  that 
one  good,  would  make  the  path  of  the  traveller  too 


16  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

smooth.  A  rival  establishment  is  always  started, 
apparently,  on  the  principle  that  one's  enjoyment 
in  this  world  must  be  made  as  difficult  and  as  com- 
plex as  possible.  Equally,  of  course,  there  being 
two  inns,  whichever  one  we  chose  it  would  follow 
that  we  would  regret  our  choice  and  repentingly 
wish  we  had  gone  to  the  other.  The  Bridges  Inn  — 
which  we  had  decided  against,  moved  by  the  higher- 
sounding  Norfolk  Arms'  title  —  presented,  we  found 
as  we  passed  it,  an  alluring  combination  of  charms. 
It  stood  in  an  attitude  of  bewitching  grace  on  the 
river-bank,  looking  out  upon  the  meadows,  the  cas- 
tle, and  the  downs,  through  windows  embowered  in 
blooming  vines. 

But  once  inside  of  the  Norfolk  Arms,  we  knew 
that  happily  our  first  choice  had  been  the  right 
one.  The  chiefest  among  the  excellences  of  the 
Arms  was  that  it  stood  in  the  very  centre  of 
the  little  town,  on  High  Street.  The  neighbor- 
hood was  of  the  most  distinguished,  as  only  a 
Frenchman  knows  how  to  say  it.  We  discovered 
at  once  that  the  Norfolk  Arms  was  nothing  if 
not  an  aristocrat.  In  assuming  the  name  of  the 
famous  family  whose  castle  walls  almost  adjoined 
those  of  its  ambitious  namesake,  the  Arms  had 


ARUNDEL.  17 

evidently  made  up  its  mind  to  maintain  the  family 
reputation  for  dignity  and  virtue.  It  announced, 
at  the  very  outset,  a  high-bred  indifference  to  or- 
nament which  was  too  obvious  to  be  unintentional. 
Its  external  austere  simplicity  was  the  protest  of 
the  aristocrat  against  the  plebeian  aids  of  pic- 
turesque accessories.  A  single  large  golden  clus- 
ter of  grapes  hung,  it  is  true,  from  the  sign-board  ; 
but  this  was  the  only  concession  to  the  popular 
but  vulgar  demand  for  symbolic  parade.  The  in- 
terior of  this  most  self-respecting  inn  was  in 
keeping  with  its  outward  meagreness  of  decora- 
tive embellishment.  The  rooms  were  large  and 
spacious,  but  not  luxuriously  furnished.  There 
was  a  conscious  air  of  respectability  about  the  tall 
beds,  the  stiff  upright  buffets,  and  the  erect  dining- 
room  chairs,  as  if  to  assure  the  inmates  of  these 
dignified  apartments  that  they  were  in  the  very 
best  society. 

We  discovered  that  the  epitome  of  the  conscious 
air  of  aristocratic  rectitude  which  pervaded  this  ad- 
mirable inn  was  embodied  in  our  waiter.  He  was 
more  than  a  person,  —  he  was  a  personage.  He 
appeared  to  be  an  individual  of  high-rank  ante- 
cedents.    From  the  first  he  gave  us  to  understand, 


18  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

by  a  number  of  disdainful  little  ways,  that  his  being 
a  provincial  at  all  was  purely  a  matter  of  accident. 
This  transition  had  evidently  not  been  effected 
without  disastrous  results  on  his  character  :  it  had 
made  him  a  pessimist.  He  took  the  darkest  pos- 
sible views  of  life  in  general,  and  of  the  travelling 
public  in  particular.  He  appeared,  from  the  start, 
to  have  taken  a  melancholy  view  of  us  and  of  our 
luggage.  The  compactness  and  limited  number  of 
our  boxes  seemed  to  afflict  him  with  dim  forebod* 
ings  both  of  the  transiency  of  our  stay  and  of  the 
limitations  of  our  purse.  At  the  end  of  the  second 
day,  however,  we  noticed  that  he  had  become  more 
cheerful. 

"  It  must  have  been  the  dinner  we  ordered  last 
evening,"  said  Boston.  "  If  a  little  thing  like  that 
can  raise  his  spirits,  why,  we  will  keep  it  up.  But 
he  is  a  gloomy  specimen,  is  n't  he  ? " 

The  gloom  settled  down  upon  him  later  the  same 
evening.  It  was  occasioned  by  a  little  obtuscness 
on  Boston's  part.  Under  the  impulse  of  the  knowl- 
edge that  there  were  a  number  of  interesting  places 
about  and  in  Arundel  which  must  be  visited  in  the 
next  few  days,  and  not  having  as  yet  either  guide- 
book or  map  at  hand,  Boston  sought  to  extract  a 


ARUNDEL.  19 

little  useful  information  from  Walters.  Boston 
was  too  true  an  American  not  to  see  in  every 
other  man  a  being  born  for  the  express  purpose 
of  answering  questions. 

"  Walters,  when  is  the  castle  open  ?  " 

"  The  castle,  sir,  is  never  open  to  visitors. 
Only  the  dairy  and  the  keep,  sir,  are  open.  The 
tickets  can  be  'ad  'ere,  sir."  This  was  deliv- 
ered with  a  commendable  alacrity  of  utterance. 
The  succeeding  questions  were,  however,  answered 
with  less  and  less  readiness.  Later  there  came  a 
perceptible  deepening  of  the  gloom  under  which 
Walters  appeared  habitually  to  endure  existence. 
Then  came  a  pause  all  at  once  in  both  questions 
and  answers.  During  the  pause  Walters  gave  Bos- 
ton's pocket  a  pregnant  glance. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Boston  in  an  undertone,  his  fingers 
obeying  mechanically  the  meaning  conveyed  in  this 
portentous  look.  He  took  out  a  silver  coin.  After 
its  contact  with  Walters'  palm  the  cloud  of  his 
melancholy  appeared  to  lift  for  a  few  seconds. 

"What  nonsense,  Boston,  to  have  tipped  him ! " 
I  protested  as  he  left  the  room.  "  Can't  one  ask 
a  question  in  England  without  having  to  pay  for 
it? 


20  CATHEDRAL  DAYS, 

"  It  appears  not.  You  saw  that  I  only  did  what 
was  expected  of  me." 

"  That 's  because  we  are  Americans.  An  Eng- 
lishman would  n't  have  given  him  a  penny." 

"  It  is  Englishmen  who  taught  him  the  habit, 
not  Americans.  Tipping  is  a  national  product. 
Every  one  is  tipped  in  England,  from  the  lord  to 
the  beggar.  Only,  when  it  gets  into  the  upper 
circles  it  goes  by  another  name." 

I  noticed,  however,  that  in  spite  of  Boston's 
philosophic  acceptance  of  this  national  custom, 
conversation  with  Walters,  even  of  the  most  So- 
cratian  order  of  dialogue,  having  been  found  to 
be  expensive,  became  more  and  more  feeble. 

On  the  following  morning  we  saw  such  a  spec- 
tacle in  the  courtyard  as  made  us  still  more 
sensible  that  certain  customs  in  England  are  tena- 
ciously rooted.  The  cook  and  two  assistants  were 
busily  handling  a  number  of  huge  joints,  which 
were  suspended  on  hooks  from  the  inner  archway. 
This  archway  was  the  only  mode  of  egress  or  in- 
gress from  the  inn-door  to  the  street  without. 
The  meats  were  hanging  in  full  view  under  the 
brick  arch,  as  if  it  had  been  a  butcher's  stall 
^instead  of  the  neat  approach  to  an  inn.     I  can- 


ARUNDEL.  21 

not  say  that  there  was  any  dripping  of  gore,  but 
there  was  an  unpleasant  suggestion  of  recent  bleed- 
ing under  the  knife. 

"  The  courtyard  apparently  is  the  inn's  open-air 
ice-chest,"  I  remarked  to  Boston,  after  our  first 
start  of  amazement. 

"  No ;  it  is  an  original  and  altogether  inexpensive 
method  of  announcing  the  day's  menu,^^  Boston 
replied  to  my  suggestion.  Subsequent  experiences 
resulted  in  our  forming  even  less  favorable  opin- 
ions of  the  innkeeper's  designs  upon  his  guests. 
The  next  morning  we  noticed  that  the  huge  quarter 
of  lamb  had  disappeared. 

"  We  had  best  order  the  beef  to-day,  or  to-morrow 
we  shall  wish  that  we  had." 

"  It  is  altogether  the  most  ingenious  method 
of  enforcing  speedy  consumption  of  viands  that 
was  ever  invented.  Talk  of  Yankee  ingenuity, 
indeed ! "  answered  Boston,  in  a  semi-burst  of 
indignation. 

There  was,  in  truth,  no  escape  from  the  fate  which 
would  befall  us  in  case  of  a  too  prolonged  indiffer- 
ence to  these  mute  but  terrible  appeals  to  our  sense 
of  economy.  There  came  upon  us,  at  the  last,  the 
grewsome  habit  of  fascinated   calculation,  as  we 


22  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

eyed  the  meats  day  after  day.  We  could  not  help 
conjecturing  how  the  dampness  of  one  day  or  the 
heat  of  another  would  affect  their  complexions,  and 
then  critically  surveying  them  to  see  whether  their 
pink  and  white  had  suffered. 

This  was  not  the  only  proof  we  encountered  that 
the  sensibility  of  English  stomachs  is  of  a  different 
order  from  that  of  American  organs.  No  one  else 
but  ourselves  appeared  even  so  much  as  to  glance 
at  the  pendent  carnivorous  array. 

Our  large  sitting-room  window  opened  directly 
on  the  town's  main  thoroughfare.  One  little  street, 
at  right  angles  with  the  larger,  broader  High  Street, 
seemed  to  have  stepped  into  our  windows,  so  close 
did  its  houses  appear.  Our  sitting-room  windows, 
we  declared,  were  thus  as  good  as  a  stage-box.  All 
the  life  and  the  picturesqueness  of  the  town  could 
be  enjoyed  without  stirring  from  the  depths  of  our 
easy-chairs.  The  stage,  we  discovered  on  the  second 
day  of  our  arrival,  was  charmingly  set.  The  brood- 
ing quiet  had  given  place  to  lively  activity.  The 
streets  were  full  of  noise  and  bustle,  of  a  true 
holiday  clatter  and  buzz.  It  was  Saturday,  —  mar- 
ket-day ;  and  from  early  morning  carts  and  wag- 
ons had  been  standing  about  in  the  open  square. 


ARUNDEL.  23 

Wagoners  and  teamsters  were  soon  out  shopping. 
The  tiny  shops  in  a  half-hour  were  so  full  that 
they  were  spilling  over,  country-people  swarming 
out  into  the  open  streets  and  over  the  narrow 
sidewalks.  The  charming  old  Elizabethan  houses, 
with  the  rich  shadows  beneath  their  deep  project- 
ing eaves,  the  quaint  signs,  the  diamond-shaped 
panes,  needed  just  this  mass  of  rustic  life  moving 
beneath  the  window-ledges  to  give  to  this  pictur- 
esque frontage  this  last  touch  of  completeness. 
The  street  itself  could  hardly  have  happened  twice, 
I  think,  even  in  England.  It  began  its  existence,  as 
we  discovered  later,  with  the  bridge  which  crosses 
the  Arun.  Its  progress  up  the  hillside  had  the 
wandering,  straying  irregularity  peculiar  to  old 
streets  which  have  grown  up  independent  of  muni- 
cipal intention.  It  ended,  at  the  summit  of  the  hill, 
with  some  towers  and  turrets  whose  crenellated  tops 
were  green  and  mossy  among  the  trees,  —  these 
towers  and  turrets  being  only  a  portion  of  the  vast 
corona  which  adorned  the  castle's  fortified  walls. 

We  were  about  to  start  forth  on  a  visit  to  the 
castle  when  the  sound  came  up  to  us  from  the 
street,  through  the  open  sitting-room  window,  of 
the  scraping  of  a  fiddle.     A  moment  later,  snatches 


24  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

of  song  broke  forth  from  a  low  window  directly 
opposite.  We  stopped  to  listen.  There  was  a  mo- 
ment of  hesitation  before  the  song  came  full  and 
clear ;  for  voices,  like  soldiers,  must  be  thoroughly 
drilled  to  fall  directly  into  rhythmic  accord.  Then 
the  song  burst  out,  firm  and  swelling  with  the 
might  of  the  strong  male  voices.  It  was  a  lovely 
bit  of  part-singing,  with  sweet  minor  changes  and 
full  deep  bass  harmonies  in  it.  Then,  after  a  little, 
there  were  pausings  and  baitings.  The  singers  ap- 
parently were  at  something  else  besides  their  sing- 
ing. We  could  see,  as  we  leaned  out,  a  group  of 
men  in  the  house  opposite,  sitting  about  a  long 
table.  They  were  playing  cards,  and  there  was  a 
huge  tankard  of  beer  at  each  man's  elbow.  I  de- 
voutly prayed  that  the  depth  of  the  tankard  might 
prolong  the  length  of  the  song ;  but  in  a  few 
minutes  the  song  was  done.  The  men  came  out, 
twenty  or  more  in  number,  —  strong,  lusty-looking 
fellows,  with  the  sun's  red  seal  burnt  upon  their 
faces.  They  climbed  into  one  of  the  big  wagons, 
gave  a  deep-throated  cheer  to  their  hostess,  and 
were  off.  The  landlady  stood  looking  after  them, 
with  both  hands  in  her  pockets,  smiling  a  broad 
farewell.     Then  the  little  door  swallowed  her  up. 


ARUNDEL.  25 

"  What  was  that  singing  over  the  way  ?  "  T  asked 
the  chambermaid  as  we  passed  her  on  the  stairs. 
The  previous  answers  of  this  neat  and  most  re- 
spectful of  her  sex  to  my  questions  had  not  im- 
pressed me  with  the  belief  that  she  also  was  infected 
with  the  British  habit  of  turning  a  passing  dialogue 
into  a  financial  speculation.     She  had  never  failed 
to  enliven  her  civility  with  a  smile. 
"  It's  a  bean  feast,  mum." 
"  A  bean  feast  ?    And  what  is  that  ?  " 
"  It 's  the  workingraen's  outings,  mum,  —  a  kind 
of  liarvest  feast,  mum." 

So  rural  England  still  played  and  sang  a  little ! 
There  was  a  time,  I  know,  when  she  sang  better 
than  any  one  else,  —  when  she  could  beat  the  world 
in  her  own  line.  In  the  old  madrigal  days  Eng- 
land was  a  nest  of  singing-birds.  But  I  had  sup- 
posed that  the  cruel  fate  which  overtakes  all  great 
singers  had  come  to  her  :  I  understood  that  she 
had  lost  her  voice.  It  was  pleasant  to  know  that 
her  method  had  been  so  good  it  had  survived  till 
now  among  its  grain  and  bean  fields,  if  abandoned 
by  the  great. 

What  was  not  so  pleasant  was  the  braying  of  a 
horrible  assemblag-e  of  instruments  called  a  band. 


26  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

This  latter  was  attached  to  a  trick  and  monkey 
show  which  had  taken  its  place,  early  on  this  holi- 
day Saturday,  at  the  bottom  of  High  Street.  Its 
hideous  blare  of  sound  had  kept  the  village  astir 
and  abroad  for  five  long  hours.  Where  the  crowds 
came  from  that  kept  the  dogs  performing  and  the 
monkeys  playing  their  monotonous  tricks,  and  how 
an  otherwise  sane  and  sensible  English  village  could 
endure  having  its  peace  and  quiet  disturbed  by  such 
a  roar  and  din  as  issued  from  the  cracked  trumpet 
and  the  squeaky  fiddle,  surpassed  comprehension. 
The  band  and  its  torturing  music  had  the  perva- 
siveness of  all  vulgarity  ;  it  filled  the  village  like 
an  intolerable  presence.  We  shut  the  windows; 
but  the  discords,  like  jubilant  furies,  screamed  at 
us  through  the  key-hole.  We  sought  refuge  in  the 
graveyard  at  the  top  of  the  street,  —  this  at  ten 
at  night,  when  fatigue  and  desperation  had  turned 
us  loose  upon  the  world,  seeking  where  we  might 
hide  our  tortured  ears ;  but  through  the  darkness 
of  the  night  came  the  blare  of  that  terrible  trum- 
»pet,  like  a  yell  of  some  devil  cheated  out  of  his 
prey.  At  eleven,  finally,  the  last  villager  had  seen 
the  last  trick,  and  silence  fell,  like  a  great  peace,  on 
the  still  air.     The  next  morning  the  great  hideous 


ARUNDEL.  27 

cart  had  disappeared.  It  had  doubtless  moved  on 
to  another  suffering  village. 

"  Do  you  suppose  it  has  gone  to  Chichester  ?"  I 
asked,  in  despair,  of  Boston. 

"1  presume  it  has.  It's  probably  doing  the 
towns,  —  it  is  taking  its  summer  tour,  as  we  are," 
was  Boston's  comforting  answer. 

"  Then  I  stay  where  I  am." 

I  take  pleasure  in  warning  any  unwary  traveller 
against  a  similar  fate.  The  name  of  that  trick 
and  monkey  show  was  Whitcomb's.  Whenever  he 
meets  Mr.  Whitcomb  I  advise  him  to  take  the  next 
train — if  it  be  for  Hades. 

It  was  owing  to  these  and  other  adventures  with 
the  more  homely  features  of  Arundel's  town-life, 
that  we  found  ourselves  too  late  that  afternoon  for 
a  visit  to  the  castle.  But  the  hour  was  perfect  for 
an  inspection  of  its  battlemented  walls.  To  escape 
them,  in  whatever  direction  one  turned  in  the  town, 
would  have  been  difficult.  Such  a  vast  architectu- 
ral mass  as  Arundel  Castle,  implanted  in  Saxon, 
Roman,  and  feudal  military  necessities,  strikes  its 
roots  deep  and  wide.  The  town  appeared,  by  com- 
parison, to  be  but  an  accidental  projection  on  the 
hillside.     The  walls  grew  out  of  the  town  as  the 


28  -       CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

trunks  of  a  great  tree  shoot  forth  from  the  ground,  — 
of  a  different  growth,  but  an  integral  part  of  it. 

Topographically,  Arundel  had  only  a  few  features, 
yet  they  were  fine  enough  to  form  a  rich  ensemble. 
There  was  the  castle,  huge,  splendid,  impressive,  set 
like  a  great  gray  pearl  on  the  crown  of  the  hill. 
On  one  side  spread  the  town  ;  on  the  other,  the 
tall  trees  of  the  castle  park  begirt  its  towers  and 
battlements.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill  ran  the  river, — 
a  beautiful  sinuous  stream,  which  curved  its  course 
between  the  Down  hillsides,  out  through  the  plains, 
to  the  sea.  Whatever  may  have  been  the  fate  of 
the  town  in  former  times,  held  perhaps  at  a  dis- 
tance far  below  in  the  valley,  —  during  troublous 
times  when  the  castle  must  be  free  for  the  more  seri- 
ous work  of  assault  or  defence, — it  no  longer  lies 
at  the  foot  of  its  great  protector.  In  friendly  confi- 
dence it  seems  to  sit,  if  not  within  its  arms,  at  least 
beside  its  knee.  But  in  spite  of  these  changed  re- 
lations, all  the  good  old  prejudices,  I  fancy,  are 
not  done  away  with.  In  spite  of  certain  excited 
statements  from  our  socialistic  brotherhood,  the 
castle  and  the  village  are  hardly  as  yet  on  visit- 
ing terms.  Nothing  appears  easier  than  the  fulfil- 
ment of  these  and  other  specious  prophecies,  away 


ARUNDEL.  29 

from  the  proofs.  But  somehow,  when  one  looks 
up  at  such  a  vast  and  splendid  castle  as  this,  im- 
pregnable as  its  walls,  and  contrasts  the  simple 
plebeian  little  town  beside  it,  one's  belief  in  the 
glorious  principle  of  the  equality  of  men  dwindles 
into  pitiful  conjecture.  One  wonders  whether,  after 
all,  the  castle  will  not  survive  these  and  other  agi- 
tations and  agitators,  as  its  very  existence  is  proof 
of  its  power  to  resist  far  more  formidable  sieges. 

There  is  no  escaping  the  conclusion  that  a  duke, 
when  one  is  confronted  with  his  castle,  does  seem  a 
personage  whose  state  is  secure. 

The  noise  and  the  clatter  of  the  main  thorough- 
fare, and  even  the  long  stretch  of  the  castle  walls, 
we  had  soon  passed,  in  our  walk  that  afternoon, 
reaching  the  quiet  of  its  upper  streets.  The  princi- 
pal dwelling-streets  of  the  pretty  town  run  laterally 
across  the  hillside,  as  if  for  once  even  a  village 
house-builder  could  prove  he  knew  best  how  to 
stand  when  he  wished  to  look  out  upon  a  picture. 
Beneath  us,  swimming  in  light,  stretched  the  great 
canvas  of  the  open  country.  Through  doorways 
and  open  windows  there  were  enchanting  views 
framed  in  old  casements  and  Tudor  pilasters.  The 
eye  swept  past  open  doorways  into  broad  halls,  with 


30  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

their  quaint  old-time  furniture  of  higli-shouldered 
chairs  and  carved  settle,  straight  out  to  the  lovely 
Sussex  valley,  which  stretched  itself  towards  the 
horizon  like  an  endless  carpet,  with  its  inwrought 
pattern  of  waving  grain,  oaks,  and  hayricks.  With 
such  pictures  to  gain,  even  our  best  manners  were 
not  proof  against  the  temptation  presented  by  the 
tiny  diamond-shaped  open  lattices.  The  houses 
seemed  in  conspiracy  with  our  impertinence,  some 
of  them  standing  boldly  out  on  the  sidewalk,  as  if 
bent  on  looking  up  and  down  the  street.  Others 
more  modest,  whose  deprecating  air  of  shyness  we 
respected,  retreated  behind  with  demurely  drawn 
shutters,  —  timid  creatures  holding  fans  before 
their  pretty  faces.  There  were  ancient  and  modern 
styles  apparent,  in  the  architectural  fashions  we 
passed  in  review,  the  gable-roofed  Elizabethan  and 
the  broad  low  Georgian  being  the  most  noticeable. 
There  were  also  modern  reproductions  of  both, — 
very  precise  and  perfect  reproductions,  which  im- 
posed on  no  one. 

What  pleased  us  even  better  than  the  houses 
was  the  human  life  that  they  sheltered,  and  which 
looked  out  at  us  through  the  old  windows.  There 
were  some  fresh,  fair  faces,  that  only  needed  ruffs 


ARUNDEL.  31 

and  stomachers  to  be  in  admirable  keeping  with 
the  ancient  architectural  setting.  Fine  last-century 
figures,  strong-featured,  with  gentle  eyes,  ceased 
their  knitting  to  glance  up,  over  silver-rimmed 
spectacles,  at  the  sound  of  our  voices. 

One  face  we  met,  which  seemed  strangely  out  of 
keeping  with  such  surroundings.  It  was  a  curi- 
ously un-English  face.  It  belonged  to  a  man  who 
was  hurrying  past  us,  with  a  book  in  his  hand,  on 
the  cover  of  which  there  was  a  large  gilt  cross. 
The  face  was  long  and  dark,  clean-shaven,  with 
deep-set  wary  eyes,  and  a  sly  curve  on  the  full 
lips.  It  needed  neither  the  abba's  long  fluttering 
coat  nor  its  purple  lining  to  tell  us  it  was  the  face 
of  a  priest.  As  he  neared  the  great  castle  gate- 
way, I  saw  it  open,  the  keeper  within  bowing  as 
the  abbd  passed  beyond. 

I  remembered  then  that  the  castle  was  a  great 
Catholic  stronghold,  the  Dukes  of  Norfolk  being 
among  the  few  great  families  which  have  remained 
faithful,  since  the  Conquest,  to  the  See  of  Rome. 
The  present  Duke  of  Norfolk,  by  reason  of  the 
fervor  of  his  piety,  his  untiring  zeal  and  magnifi- 
cent generosity,  is  recognized  as  the  head  of  the 
Catholic  party  in  England.    To  learn  that  he  was 


32  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

at  present  on  a  pilgrimage  to  Lourdes,  and  that 
such  was  his  yearly  custom,  seemed  to  shorten 
distance  for  us.  It  made  the  old  —  its  beliefs,  its 
superstitions,  its  unquestioning  ardor  of  faith  — 
strangely  new.  It  invested  the  castle,  which  ap- 
pealed to  our  consciousness  as  something  remote 
and  alien,  with  the  reality  of  its  relation  to  medi- 
aeval life  and  manners. 

The  little  cathedral  which  crowns  the  hill  —  the 
most  prominent  object  for  miles  about,  after  the 
castle  —  is  the  gift  of  the  present  Duke.  It  is  a 
pretty  structure,  pointed  Gothic  in  style,  con- 
scientiously reproduced  with  all  the  aids  of  flying 
buttresses,  niches,  pinnacles,  and  arches.  It  was 
doubtless  a  splendid  gift.  Perhaps  in  the  twenty- 
first  century,  when  the  weather  has  done  its  archi- 
tectural work  on  the  exterior,  and  when  the  interior 
has  been  finely  dimmed  with  burnt  incense,  when 
stained  glass  and  sculptured  effigies  of  saints  have 
been  donated  by  future  dukes,  it  will  be  a  very 
imposing  edifice  indeed. 

But  all  the  beauty  of  ecclesiastical  picturesque- 
ness  lies  across  the  way.  Hidden  behind  the  lovely 
beech-arched  gateway  rests  the  old  parochial  church. 
In  spite  of  restoration  the  age  of  six  centuries  is 


ARUNDEL.  53 

written  unmistakably  on  the  massive  square  bell- 
tower,  the  thirteenth-century  traceries,  and  the  rich 
old  glass.  It  is  guarded  by  a  high  wall  from  the 
adjoining  castle-walls,  as  if  the  castle  still  feared 
there  were  something  dangerously  infectious  in  the 
mere  propinquity  of  such  heresies. 

It  has  had  its  turn  at  the  sieges  that  have  beset 
the  castle.  From  the  old  tower  there  came  a 
rattling  hail  when  Waller's  artillery  flashed  forth 
its  fire  upon  the  Royalist  garrison  in  the  cas- 
tle. The  old  bells  that  peal  out  the  Sunday 
chimes  seem  to  retain  something  of  the  jubilant 
spirit  of  that  martial  time.  There  was  a  brisk 
military  vigor  in  their  clanging,  suggestive  of 
command  rather  than  of  entreaty,  as  if  they  were 
more  -at  home  when  summoning  fighters  than 
worshippers. 

All  is  peace  now.  The  old  church  sits  in  the 
midst  of  its  graves,  like  an  old  patriarch  sur- 
rounded by  the  dead  whom  he  has  survived. 

We  were  curious  to  see  which  church  would  have 
the  greater  number  of  worshippers,  —  how  many  of 
his  townsfolk  the  Duke  had  managed  to  hold  faith- 
ful to  the  Pope.  The  Ducal  influence  had,  we 
found,  prevailed   over   her  Majesty's  less  ancient 


34  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

established  church.  At  the  little  cathedral  there 
was,  we  found  on  the  first  Sunday  morning  of  our 
stay,  a  marked  Catholic  majority.  In  spite  of 
the  more  splendid  ceremonial  at  St.  Philip  de  Neri, 
in  spite  of  the  pomp  of  scarlet-robed  priests  and 
the  glory  of  a  double  choir,  in  spite  of  the  subtle 
intoxication  of  the  incense  and  the  pictorial  attrac- 
tions of  burning  tapers  and  flower-decked  altars, 
it  was  the  simpler,  the  more  earnest  worship  in 
the  old  church  beneath  the  cypresses  that  touched 
our  hearts  and  made  us  one  with  the  worshippers. 
There  was  a  ring  in  the  responses,  and  a  fervor 
in  the  way  the  hymns  burst  forth  from  the  fresh, 
strong  English  throats,  drowning  the  less-meaning 
music  of  the  birds  twittering  at  the  open  door,  that 
made  one  know  and  feel,  with  full  strength  of 
inherent  conviction,  just  why  it  is  that  an  English- 
man is  by  instinct  a  Protestant.  His  religion  must 
appeal  to  his  understanding ;  it  must  stir  his  soul. 
He  is  not  satisfied  with  being  moved  superficially. 
He  is  not  poet  enough  to  possess  vast  perspectives, 
or  so  delicately  organized  that  he  can  vibrate  to 
purely  sensuous  imageries.  There  is  precision 
even  in  the  English  imagination,  as  there  are 
limitations  to  English  sensibilities. 


ARUNDEL.  85 

It  is  good  to  see,  however,  that  some  of  the 
virtues  which  the  Englishman  as  a  Protestant  has 
prayed  for,  have  come  to  him.  Fresh  from  London 
and  the  site  of  Smithfield,  it  was  edifying  to  see 
Catholics  and  Protestants  worshipping,  in  gentle 
amity,  within  sight  of  one  another.  Is  it  by  reason 
of  the  efficacy  of  their  prayers  that  this  grace  of 
toleration  has  been  borne  in  upon  them,  or  is  it 
due  to  the  lesson  which  the  inefficacy  of  their 
mutual  roasting  has  taught  them? 

Doubtless  both.  The  prayers  made  the  martyrs, 
whose  stuff  of  glorious  stubbornness  made  sizzling 
under  a  slow  fire  appeal  to  the  economies  of  the 
nation.  It  must  have  seemed,  at  the  last,  a  waste 
in  kindling-wood.  The  attempt  to  roast  their  re- 
ligion out  of  the  martyrs  was  in  the  end,  doubtless, 
discovered  to  be  only  a  more  expensive  method 
of  thoroughly  baking  in  their  beliefs. 

That  all  the  good  townsfolk  of  Arundel  had 
not  been  to  church  on  this  lovely  July  morning 
might  have  been  inferred  from  the  look  of  the 
sky  and  the  quality  of  the  air,  to  breathe  which 
was  like  sipping  perfumed  dew. 

We  ourselves  had  proof  of  this  backsliding.  On 
Arundel  Bridge  there  was  assembled  a  congrega- 


36  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

tion  of  open-air  worshippers  which  would  have  filled 
a  fairly  capacious  church. 

Arundel  Bridge  possessed  an  order  of  attraction, 
we  discovered,  quite  apart  from  any  other  feature 
of  the  town.  It  appeared  to  be  the  open-air  club- 
room,  the  fashionable  promenade,  the  lounging-place 
of  the  entire  population.  At  whatever  hour  of  the 
day  one  chanced  to  pass  it,  there  was  always  to 
be  found  a  knot  of  idlers  gathered  about  its  para- 
pet, leaning  on  strong  elbows,  looking  out  upon 
the  river  life.  Even  the  passers-by  stopped,  took 
a  turn  at  lounging,  and  chatted  for  a  brief  mo- 
ment ere  they  went  their  way.  We  also  had 
fallen  into  this  pleasant  habit ;  as  who  would  not, 
with  a  silver  river  rippling  beneath  one,  banks 
odorous  and  green  above,  the  town  breaking  into 
charming  perspectives,  the  great  castle  hanging 
overhead,  and  the  Down  hillsides  rushing  tumultu- 
ously  into  the  plains  ?  Besides,  close  at  hand,  was 
the  Bridges  Inn.  And  we  liked  to  be  near  it,  and 
watch  its  prettiness  and  activity,  and  talk  over  our 
regret  at  not  being  there,  much  as  a  disappointed 
lover  nurses  his  hurt  and  coquets  with  his  despair. 

Perhaps  there  is  more  in  lounging  than  the 
never-idle  dream  of.     It  may   be  that  the  idlers 


ARUNDEL.  87 

form  the  ideal  leisure  class,  —  a  class  too  aristo- 
cratic to  work  for  knowledge,  yet  to  whom  it 
comes  by  sheer  force  of  the  long  measure  of  time 
at  their  command.  Certain  it  is,  that  unless  we 
had  joined  these  loungers  on  the  bridge  we  should 
never  have  known  so  much  of  the  real  life  and 
history  of  the  little  town.  We  should  never,  for 
instance,  have  discovered,  unless  our  eyes  had 
proved  it  to  us,  that  Arundel  was  a  port.  Yet 
such  it  is.  The  river  banks  are  prolific  with 
signs  of  unmistakable  maritime  activity.  Ships 
we  saw,  riding  in  from  the  sea,  looking  indeed  as 
if  projected  into  this  inland  landscape  for  purely 
operatic  purposes  of  stage  grouping.  They  an- 
chored along  the  reedy  banks,  their  cargoes  as 
gravely  unloading  as  if  there  were  nothing  incon- 
gruous in  a  full-rigged  ship  lying  at  anchor  amid 
the  grasses  and  poppies  of  an  inland  meadow. 

It  is  the  river  that  plays  stage-manager.  It  is 
in  league  with  the  sea.  Old  Ocean's  strong  pulse 
throbs  its  buoyant  life  through  this  slender  artery. 
At  noon  the  river  rests,  barely  breathing  in  its 
swoon  of  sleep.  At  morn  and  evening  it  rises, 
swelling  with  tidal  fury,  rushing  past  its  banks 
with  the  zest  of  an  athlete. 


38  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

Wherever  there  is  a  ship,  there  are  always  any 
number  of  men  with  their  hands  in  their  pockets, 
and  with  no  visible  occupation  in  life  except  that  of 
watching  her.  Why  is  it  that  a  man  never  wearies 
of  looking  at  a  ship,  —  as  he  does,  for  instance,  of 
contemplating  his  wife  or  his  house  or  his  horse  ? 
Is  it  because  a  ship  possesses  the  ideal  feminine 
charm,  —  is  never  quite  to  be  counted  upon,  —  is 
fugitive,  illusive,  a  creature  of  the  winds  and  the 
tides,  ever  ready  to  open  her  white  wings  and  to 
sail  away  from  him?  In  the  eyes  of  the  men 
who  are  given  to  watching  ships  and  ship-life,  one 
can  detect  a  peculiar  look  of  intentness,  an  air 
of  alertness,  as  if  they  were  perpetually  on  the 
lookout  for  the  ship  which  will  surely  come  in. 
It  is  the  sea  which  brings  with  it  this  element 
of  expectancy.  It  is  everywhere  the  breeder  of 
expectation  and  the  renewer  of  hope,  as  it  is  the 
great  mother  of  energy  and  ambition. 

On  this  particular  morning  of  our  half-hour's 
lounging,  a  little  incident  occurred  to  enliven  the 
quiet  and  the  stillness.  A  boat  was  coming  up 
river  with  tremendous  swiftness.  The  tide  was 
flowing  inward  with  the  rush  of  a  torrent.  The 
boat  with  its  four  oarsmen  was  borne   along  on 


ARUNDEL.  39 

the  wings  of  the  wind  as  if  it  had  been  a  feather. 
There  was  no  rowing,  the  men  letting  the  tide  do 
their  work  for  them.  Opposite  the  Bridges  Inn 
some  skilful  steering  was  done,  the  boat  being 
brought  up  in  workmanlike  style.  For  two  of  the 
men  to  clamber  up  the  iron  ladder  into  an  open 
window  of  the  hotel,  while  the  other  two  shot  the 
boat  out,  shoving  it  into  the  weeds  along  the  banks, 
from  which  it  was  lifted  as  if  it  had  been  a  thing 
of  paper,  and  carried  up  the  bank,  was  but  the 
work  of  a  few  seconds. 

"  They  're  come  to  breakfast,"  was  the  knowing 
remark  of  my  next  neighbor,  a  stout  villager  of 
florid  aspect,  addressing  no  one  in  particular. 

From  the  fringe  of  on-lookers  there  was  no  re- 
sponse, except  that  the  smoking  went  on  a  little 
more  vigorously.    After  a  pause  another  voice  said : 

"  They  '11  be  going  up  stream  presently." 

There  was  again  a  pause,  longer  than  the  first. 
Then,  "  It  '11  be  sport  to  see  'um,"  came  from  a 
thin  little  man  with  a  whistling  voice,  the  whistle 
that  comes  through  broken  or  absent  teeth. 

Another  five  minutes'  silence  was  finally  broken 
by  a  coarser,  stronger  tone,  with  solemn  accent,  as 
if  there  were  something  grim  in  the  coming  fun, — 


40  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

"  Yes,  it  will  be  thot." 

Silence  fell  again  upon  the  little  group.  Each 
man's  gaze  sank  into  the  flowing  river,  as  if  to 
plunge  anew  into  the  depths  of  his  own  reverie. 

"  How  a  group  of  French  peasants  would  have 
gabbled!"  I  said  to  Boston,  as  we  strolled  away 
to  take  a  turn  in  the  fields,  determining,  however, 
to  return  in  time  for  the  "  sport." 

"  Yes ;  and  how  they  would  have  spoilt  it  all ! 
Their  eagerness  would  have  anticipated  everything. 
Now  we  have  something  to  look  forward  to.  An 
Englishman's  silence  is  dramatic ;  it  is  full  of 
potentialities,"  replied  Boston,  sententiously. 

When  we  returned,  in  an  hour,  the  knot  of  vil- 
lagers had  not,  apparently,  so  much  as  moved.  No 
one  stirred,  or  even  turned  his  head,  as  we  took 
our  places  silently,  —  no  one,  that  is,  except  the 
thin  little  tanner,  who  readjusted  his  pipe  to  the 
end  of  his  mouth  farthest  away  from  me,  in 
the  fear,  presumably,  that  smoke  might  be  used  as 
a  conversational  medium. 

In  the  river  below,  however,  there  was  life  and 
stir  enough.  The  oarsmen  were  busy  filling  their 
boat  with  baskets  of  beer  and  luncheon.  It  re- 
quired great  care  to  adjust  the  baskets  rightly  ;  for 


ARUNDEL.  41 

tlie  boat  was  tossing  beneath  them  uneasily,  as  if 
in  haste  to  be  gone.  In  another  moment  the  men 
were  seated  ;  a  turn  of  the  oars,  and  they  were  off. 

"The  other  artch,  sur, —  the  other  artch,"  came 
from  our  neighbors  lustily  enough  now,  and  al- 
most in  chorus ;  for  the  oarsmen  had  attempted 
to  go  in  under  the  nearer  one.  In  trying  to  obey 
instructions,  they  had  struck  against  the  stone 
abutment. 

"Your  hoar,  sur, —  your  hoar,"  was  again  shouted 
from  the  bridge.  But  the  oar  was  gone  ;  and  so 
were  they,  nearly,  for  the  strength  of  the  stream 
was  crashing  them  against  the  abutment  again 
and  again. 

"  They  hall  does  that,  every  one ;  they  never 
gets  clear,  down  yonder,"  was  the  complacent  com- 
ment of  my  neighbor. 

"  Why  not  warn  them  in  time  ? "  I  asked,  a 
trifle  indignantly,  my  sympathies  stirred  by  the 
spectacle  of  the  struggling  crew. 

"  Why,  mum,  they  likes  it ;  it's  what  they  comes 
for,  to  work  a  bit."  And  a  laugh  went  down  the 
fringe  of  on-lookers. 

Well,  if  they  liked  it,  they  were  having  enough 
of   it.     All   the    pulling   like    madmen   was    not 


42  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

helping  to  clear  them  into  mid-stream.  Finally,  as 
all  pulled  together  with  the  force  of  young  giants, 
out  the  boat  flew,  free  and  clear.  The  clever 
steering  was  resumed;  they  shot  under  the  arch 
like  a  flying  bird ;  there  was  a  vision  of  a  strong 
young  arm  waving  a  red  cap  in  triumph,  of  a  tawny 
mustache  bristling  in  the  sunlight,  and  they  were 
far  off  and  out  of  sight. 

We  ourselves  crossed  the  bridge  to  gain  the 
farther  side  of  the  river.  In  a  few  brief  moments 
we  were  among  the  grain-fields  and  the  farms. 
The  object  of  our  walk  was  to  get  a  really  satis- 
factory view  of  the  castle.  In  our  former  walks 
about  the  town  we  had  had  numberless  views  of  its 
walls,  turret  and  tower  studded,  of  bits  of  its  huge 
fa9ade  and  its  venerable  keep,  fitting  into  the 
street  corners  or  rearing  their  beauty  above  the 
low  gabled  roof-tops.  But  in  the  town,  through 
the  medium  of  enclosed  streets  or  through  acci- 
dental openings  between  chimney-pots,  there  had 
been  no  chance  of  seeing  the  whole  in  perspec- 
tive, —  as  essential  for  a  right  viewing  of  such  a 
vast  architectural  mass  as  Arundel  Castle  as  it  is 
wise,  as  a  rule,  to  look  on  human  greatness  from 
an  historical  distance. 


ARUNDEL.  43 

In  looking  up  at  the  castle  from  the  river,  as 
a  foreground,  one  has  a  lovely  breastwork  of  trees, 
the  castle  resting  on  the  crown  of  the  hill  like 
some  splendid  jewel.  Its  grayness  makes  its 
strong,  bold  outlines  appear  the  more  distinct 
against  the  melting  background  of  the  faint  blue 
and  white  English  sky  and  the  shifting  sky  scenery. 
In  the  river  that  morning  there  were  brilliant 
touches  of  color,  —  reflections  of  the  houses,  the 
castle  towers,  and  the  brown  and  gold  of  the 
meadow,  here  and  there  lit  up  with  the  flame  of 
the  poppies  lining  the  banks.  Beyond,  toward  the 
sea,  was  the  long  green  line  of  the  plain,  the  one 
line  of  rest  and  repose  in  the  landscape.  Over  all 
was  the  rosy,  calm,  virile  bloom  of  English  health. 
The  bloom  looked  out  at  one  through  a  faint 
mist,  like  a  rosy  child  in  the  midst  of  its  bath. 
The  entire  scene  was  suffused  with  that  delicate, 
vague,  misty  veil  of  light,  which  imparts  to  all 
English  landscape  a  certain  aqueous  quality.  It 
is  this  moist,  ethereal  aspect  which  gives  to  this 
scenery  its  note  of  individuality.  Earth  appears 
to  be  a  more  soluble  fluid  than  elsewhere,  its 
outlines  melting  more  easily  into  the  ether  of  the 
atmosphere. 


44  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

The  earliest  Saxon  who  built  his  stronghold 
where  the  castle  now  stands  must  have  had  an 
eye  for  situation,  pictorially  considered,  as  well 
as  that  keen  martial  foresight  which  told  him 
that  the  warrior  who  commanded  the  first  hill 
from  the  sea,  with  that  bastion  of  natural  forti- 
fications behind  him,  the  Downs,  had  the  God  of 
battle  already  ranged  on  his  side.  The  God  of 
battle  has  been  called  on,  in  times  past,  to  preside 
over  a  number  of  military  engagements  which 
have  come  off  on  this  now  peaceful  hillside. 

There  have  been  few  stirring  events  in  English 
history  in  which  Arundel  Castle  has  not  had  its 
share.  As  Norman  barons,  the  Earls  of  Arundel 
could  not  do  less  than  the  other  barons  of  their 
time,  and  so  quarrelled  with  their  king.  When 
the  Magna  Charta  was  going  about  to  gain  sign- 
ers, these  feudal  Arundel  gentlemen  figured  in 
the  bill,  so  to  speak.  The  fine  Barons'  Hall,  which 
commemorates  this  memorable  signing,  in  the  cas- 
tle yonder,  was  built  in  honor  of  those  remote  but 
far-sighted  ancestors.  The  Englishman,  of  course, 
has  neither  the  vanity  of  the  Frenchman  nor  the 
pride  of  the  Spaniard.  But,  for  a  modest  people,  it 
is  astonishing  what  a  number  of  monuments  are 


ARUNDEL. ,  45 

built  to  tell  the  rest  of  the  world  how  free  England 
is.  The  other  events  which  hare  in  turn  destroyed 
or  rent  the  castle  —  its  siege  and  surrender  to 
Henry  I.,  the  second  siege  by  King  Stephen,  and 
later  the  struggle  of  the  Cavaliers  and  Roundheads 
for  its  possession,  during  the  absence  abroad  of 
the  then  reigning  Earl  —  have  been  recorded  with 
less  boastful  emphasis.  The  recent  restorations, 
rebuildings,  and  enlargements  have  obliterated  all 
traces  of  these  rude  shocks.  It  has  since  risen  a 
hundred  times  more  beautiful  from  its  ruins.  It 
is  due  to  these  modern  renovations  that  the  castle 
presents  such  a  superb  appearance.  It  has  the  air 
of  careful  preservation  which  distinguishes  some  of 
the  great  royal  residences,  —  such  as  Windsor,  for 
instance,  to  which  it  has  often  been  compared. 
Its  finish  and  completeness  suggest  the  modern 
chisel.  It  is  this  aspect  of  completeness,  as  well 
as  the  unity  of  its  fine  architectural  features,  which 
makes  such  a  great  castle  as  this  so  impressive. 
As  a  feudal  stronghold  it  can  hardly  fail  to  ap- 
peal to  the :  imagination.  As  the  modern  palatial 
home  of  an  English  nobleman,  it  appeals  to  some- 
thing more  virile, —  to  the  sense  that  behind  the 
mediaeval  walls  the  life  of  its  occupants  is  still 


46  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

representative,  is  still  deep  and  national  in  im- 
portance and  significance.  Pictorially,  there  is 
nothing  —  unless  it  be  a  great  cathedral,  which 
brings  up  quite  a  different  order  of  impressions 
and  sensations  —  that  gives  to  the  landscape  such 
pictorial  effect  as  a  castle.  It  adds  the  crowning 
element  of  the  picturesque,  —  that  of  elegance 
combined  with  grandeur.  It  also  invests  the  land 
with  the  emphasis  and  the  dignity  of  a  purpose. 
English  landscape,  especially,  owes  much  to  its 
castles.  The  land,  from  its  high  degree  of  finish 
and  the  perfection  of  its  detail,  would  produce,  in 
the  end,  the  effect  of  a  certain  monotony.  There 
might  come  the  sense  of  tameness,  of  too  perfect 
a  prettiness.  But  its  castles  are  to  its  dainty 
beauty  what  the  figure  of  a  human  being  is  in  a 
parterre  .of  flowers.  The  castle  is  the  knight,  mail- 
clad  and  with  visor  drawn,  standing  amid  the 
rose-gardens  of  England.  It  adds  the  crowning 
dignity  of  a  majestic  historical  completeness. 


SLINDON  AND  BOGNOR.  47 


CHAPTER  III. 

SLINDON  AND  BOGNOR. 

'T^HE  exact  distance  between  the  giving  of  ad- 

-*■  vice  and  the  possibility  of  following  it  has 
never,  I  think,  been  properly  measured.  I  presume 
one  of  the  reasons  why  the  experienced  only  ask 
counsel  in  order  to  reject  it  is  because  they  have 
tested  the  truth  of  the  axiom  that  everything  goes 
by  contraries  in  this  world. 

How  simple  a  matter,  for  instance,  had  it  seemed 
to  our  charming  friend  in  Kent,  to  say,  with  persua- 
sive zeal  and  the  assurance  born  of  inexperience,  — 

"  The  best  and  easiest  way  is  for  you  to  depend 
on  the  local  traps.  There  will  thus  be  no  respon- 
sibility, no  going  lame,  and  you  will  have  no  worn- 
out  beast  on  your  hands." 

How  could  a  man,  whose  own  stables  were  always 
full,  know  anything  of  "  local  traps,"  indeed,  except 
from  the  optimist's  point  of  view,  regarding  them 


48  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

chiefly  in  the  light  of  the  roadster's  facile  conquest, 
as  vehicles  both  easy  and  pleasant  to  pass  on  the 
road  ?  But  the  driver  and  owner  of  the  "  local 
trap  "  naturally  takes  a  much  more  serious  attitude. 
Mankind,  from  his  point  of  view,  is  divided  into  two 
classes,  —  the  men  who  own  horses,  and  those  who 
don't.  The  latter  are  to  be  numbered  among  the 
dangerous  elements  of  society.  The  logical  infer- 
ence deduced  from  the  theory  of  the  inherent  total 
depravity  of  men  not  owning  horse-flesh  is  so  con- 
clusive as  to  be  irrefutable.  The  man  who  does  not 
own  a  horse  will  quite  naturally  wish  to  hire  one. 
He  who  hires,  secretly  hopes  to  steal.  Every  man 
therefore  has  in  him  the  instincts  of  the  horse- 
thief;  hence  ceaseless  watchfulness  is  necessary 
on  the  part  of  the  horse-owner.  This  is  one  of 
those  cases  in  which  it  behooves  every  man  to 
be  his  own  vigilance  committee,  policeman,  de- 
tective, judge,  and  executioner.  Civilization  has 
done  much,  but  in  the  matter  of  horse-thieving 
the  world  may  be  said  to  be  still  in  the  dark 
ages. 

Such  were  the  conclusions  forced  upon  us  by  our 
brief  but  vigorous  attack  on  the  hostlers  and  stable- 
owners  of  Arundel. 


SLINDON  AND  BOGNOR.  49 

Boston  returned  from  two  or  three  interviews 
with  the  livery-men  in  town  with  the  discouraging 
announcement  that  none  of  them  would  trust  him 
with  a  horse  and  carriage.  "  We  never  lets  out 
traps  without  drivers,  sir,"  he  reported  as  having 
been  the  universal  but  equally  firm  answer  to  his 
request  for  a  trap  without  one.  The  unanimity  of 
the  response,  he  admitted,  had  alone  prevented  its 
wearing  the  front  of  a  personal  reflection. 

Here  was  a  difficulty  no  one  had  foreseen,  yet  it 
was  one  which  threatened  the  very  life  and  pleasure 
of  our  little  trip. 

Take  a  driver!  Why  not  take  the  train  and 
have  done  with  it  ?  With  a  driver,  how  could  we 
be  sure  of  having  the  tamest  of  adventures,  —  of 
losing  our  way,  for  instance,  or  of  asking  it  of  the 
people  we  met  along  the  road,  and  hearing,  instead, 
of  the  crops  or  the  voting?  Besides,  the  driver 
would  do  all  the  talking.  He  always  does.  (Both  of 
us  had  secretly  sworn  to  have  a  monopoly  of  that 
privilege.)  A  driver,in  fact,  represented  everything 
from  which  we  had  fled, — the  common-place,  the 
conventional,  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  —  that  fiend 
called  discord,  that  hated  third  in  a  duet  of  harmony. 

As  we  were  standing  confronting  the  owner  of  a 


50  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

pony  and  wagonette  in  the  open  square,  —  one  who 
really  gave  signs  of  distress  at  not  being  able  to 
oblige  us,  but  who  was  as  firm  as  he  was  apologet- 
ically civil,  —  an  inspiration  dawned  on  me. 

"  You,  of  course,  or  your  man  must  go  as  far  as 
Chichester  by  train  to  bring  home  the  carriage. 
You  shall  take  our  trunks  on  with  you,  and  that 
will  be  sufficient  guarantee  that  we  have  no  inten- 
tion of  running  away  with  your  horse  and  trap, 
will  it  not?" 

The  man  laughingly  confessed  that  it  would. 
But  before  entirely  committing  himself,  he  con- 
sulted with  half  the  town,  who  had  come  from  the 
bridge  to  watch  the  proceedings.  The  town  had 
evidently  formed  an  estimate  of  our  character, — 
to  our  advantage. 

In  less  than  an  hour  the  trap  stood  in  view 
within  the  inn  courtyard.  Our  luggage,  a  few 
seconds  later,  was  comfortably  packed  in  the  rum- 
ble, and  we  were  off.  The  town  idlers  were  still 
on  watch,  as  if  conscious  of  having  vouched  for  our 
honesty  and  not  entirely  willing  to  lose  sight  of  us. 
In  view  of  the  distribution  of  a  few  discriminating 
shillings,  they  relented  their  watchfulness,  and 
melted  a  little  later  into  the  adjacent  side-streets. 


SLINDON  AND  BOGNOR.  51 

Our  route  lay  first  along  the  river,  up  into  the 
hills  at  the  back  of  the  castle,  then  down  again 
into  the  valley  to  Slindon,  and  thence  toward  the 
sea  to  Bognor.  In  all,  the  distance  was  not  more 
than  fifteen  miles,  and  we  had  before  us  a  perfect 
August  afternoon. 

After  a  half-hour's  drive  along  the  charming 
little  Arun's  banks,  we  turned  with  reluctance  into 
the  cool  shade  and  greenness  of  the  hillside  road. 
Who  ever  likes  to  leave  a  river  ?  A  river  in  a 
landscape  is  its  pulse,  its  arterial  throb  of  life,  the 
nearest  approach  to  that  ceaseless  law  of  motion 
which  informs  man's  own  body  with  vitality.  A 
landscape,  however  glorious,  without  a  flowing 
river,  always  seems  a  bit  of  nature  morte,  —  a  kind 
of  still-life  nature,  with  no  real  life  in  its  veins ; 
it  is  a  headless,  heartless  bit  of  creation,  with  no 
stir  of  pulseful  energy  which  makes  it  a  part  of  the 
active  living  forces  of  the  universe.  When  a  river 
has  the  order  of  attraction  which  this  buoyant, 
coursing,  turbulent  little  stream  of  Arun  possessed, 
darting  like  a  silver  flame  into  the  Down  valleys, 
or  leaping  with  the  audacity  of  a  full-fledged  river 
into  the  very  bosom  of  the  ocean,  it  is  little  won- 
der that  we  stopped  again  and  again  before  we 


52  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

parted  irrevocably  with  its  changeful  aspects,  its 
flowery  banks,  its  castle-crowned  heights,  and  its 
tall  hillsides. 

The  instinctive  reluctance  with  which  a  man 
exchanges  even  one  delight  for  another,  be  it  ever 
so  lovely,  argues  well,  I  think,  for  the  inherent 
constancy  of  human  nature. 

After  a  steep  climb  along  the  crest  of  a  long  and 
beautiful  hillside,  from  which  there  was  an  en- 
chanting series  of  delightful  views,  we  came  to  an 
iron  gate.  Our  pony  came  to  an  iron  stand-still. 
Neither  whipping  nor  coaxing  proved  of  any  avail. 
She  was  a  sturdy  little  beast,  —  a  "  wee  brute,  sur, 
but  strong,  strong  in  the  legs,"  her  owner  had  said 
at  parting,  when  I  had  expressed  a  doubt  as  to  her 
capacity  for  speed  under  the  heavy  load  she  was  to 
carry.  The  "  wee  brute  "  was  strong  in  something 
else  besides  her  legs.  She  evidently  belonged 
among  the  strong-minded  of  her  sex.  That  fine 
decision  of  character  possessed  by  the  owners  of 
horse-flesh  in  Arundel  appeared,  by  some  occult 
means,  to  have  been  communicated  to  the  horses 
as  well. 

"Perhaps  she  is  used  to  the  feminine  spur," 
I  said,  as  Boston  laid  aside  the  whip  in  despair.     1 


SLINDON  AND  BOGNOR.  63 

took  the  reins,  and  administered  that  form  of  en- 
couragement to  the  bit  familiarly  known  as  "  nag- 
ging." But  on  this  self-willed  little  creature  this 
usually  most  effective  method  produced  no  more 
satisfactory  result  than,  on  occasions,  has  the 
same  system  when  applied  to  the  most  perverse 
of  men. 

"  She  has  such  an  air  of  being  right,  it  almost 
seems  as  if  we  must  be  in  the  wrong,"  I  argued  at 
last.  "  Suppose  this  gate  does  lead  somewhere,  — 
where  we  ought  to  be  going  ?  " 

"  The  gate  was  not  in  our  list  of  directions," 
Boston  replied. 

"  But  since  we  are  in  search  of  adventures,  why 
not  see  where  it  will  lead  us  ?  "  And  we  did.  It 
led  us  into  the  prettiest  bit  of  road  we  had  yet 
seen  in  Arundel.  The  road  was  through  the  upper, 
remoter  regions  of  the  park  known  as  the  Deer 
Park.  This  particular  portion  of  the  vast  estate 
lay  at  a  distance  from  the  castle.  It  was  a  great 
open,  formed  of  a  series  of  short  hills,  covered 
with  thickets  and  noble  trees  and  long  stretches 
of  grazing-ground.  Herds  of  deer,  hundreds  in 
number,  stood  grouped  under  the  trees,  or,  startled 
by  our  voices,  bounded  over  the  grass. 


54  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

Distant  as  were  these  glades  and  silent  bits  of 
wood  from  the  garden  loveliness  of  the  grounds 
immediately  about  the  castle,  the  impression  which 
the  aspect  of  the  landscape  produced  was  unmis- 
takably that  of  its  being  a  great  nobleman's  park. 
There  was  visible  none  of  that  rank  and  lawless 
wildness  and  disorder  one  sees  in  our  own  great 
untrimmed,  untressed  fields  and  forests.  There 
was  about  us  the  most  penetrating  solitude,  but 
there  was  no  touch  of  desolation  in  the  loneliness. 
There  could  be  no  sadness  where  on  every  field 
and  bush  the  evidences  were  so  obvious  of  man's 
persistent  efforts.  Nature,  in  this  remote  and  un- 
frequented region,  had  been  carefully  pencilled  into 
beauty  during  the  long  centuries.  The  grass  was 
still  a  lawn,  although  the  castle  was  a  mile  or  two 
away.  It  was,  in  other  words,  a  king's  possession, 
where  even  uninhabited  and  disused  lands  were 
kept  as  trim  as  a  garden,  lest  by  chance  the  mon- 
arch's eye  should  light  upon  it,  and  discover  it  en 
deshabille. 

The  deer  were  the  only  unconscious,  entirely  nat- 
ural element  about  us.  These  delicate  creatures 
preserve,  even  in  captivity,  their  instinct  of  isola- 
tion and  independence.     Their  solitude  they  con- 


SLINDOX  AND  BOGNOR.  55 

sider  is  to  be  respected.  There  were  hundreds  of 
the  slim,  beautiful  creatures,  carrying  aloft  their 
coronal  of  branching  horns,  entirely  at  home  in 
the  companionship  of  the  great  trees  and  the 
solitude  of  the  wind-swept  Downs. 

Leaving  the  Duke's  park  was  only  to  pass  from 
one  nobleman's  estate  to  another.  Our  road  to 
Slindon  took  us  past  a  procession  of  great  gate- 
ways and  stone-built  porters'  lodges.  Now  and 
then  we  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  Queen  Anne  gabled 
faQade  or  of  a  broad,  low  Georgian  mansion.  So 
jealously  does  the  Englishman  guard  his  privacy, 
that  we  had  to  content  ourselves  for  the  most 
part  with  glimpses,  through  the  high  liedge-rows, 
of  the  lawns  and  the  flower-beds.  Nature  in  Eng- 
land has  been  fashioned  into  a  mask,  behind  which 
English  reserve  can  conceal  its  features.  When 
the  convent  wall  was  pulled  down,  the  hedge-row 
replaced  it.  The  latter  is  quite  as  high,  and  on 
the  whole  even  more  impenetrable. 

At  last,  however,  we  were  up  on  the  hills,  with 
neither  hedge-row  nor  escutcheoned  gateway  to  bar 
Nature  out.  The  turf  beneath  our  feet  was  as  soft 
as  velvet.  It  had,  we  found,  on  trying  it,  —  a  par- 
ticularly fine  and  open  hillside  having  tempted  us 


56  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

to  prolong  the  beauty  of  the  view  by  walking, — 
that  delightful  quality  of  elasticity  peculiar  to  Eng- 
lish grass.  It  was  both  soft  and  firm  beneath  the 
foot.  In  our  faces  such  an  air  was  blowing  over 
the  hills  as  only  winds  that  pass  over  a  hill-country 
ever  yield.  These  Down  breezes  have  a  particu- 
larly high  reputation  for  softness.  But  they  were 
blowing  that  afternoon  as  if  they  wanted  to  prove 
to  two  aboriginal  Americans  accustomed  to  the 
brutality  of  transatlantic  winds,  —  winds  that  stab 
and  sting  and  bite,  —  what  a  really  well-behaved 
English  wind  could  do  when  it  had  a  mind  to  show 
off  its  paces.  It  even  caressed  us  a  little,  as  if  in 
pity  for  the  beatings  we  had  to  take  at  home. 

Who  is  not  cheered  by  being  petted  a  little  ? 
Under  the  soft,  caressing  touch  of  that  tender- 
hearted summer  breeze  we  walked  on  and  on.  The 
more  we  walked,  the  better  we  liked  it. 

Nature  is  a  coy  creature.  She  is  as  hopeless  a 
plebeian  as  she  is  difficult  of  approach.  She  insi&ts 
on  equality  as  the  first  essential  of  a  true  friend- 
ship with  her.  The  walker,  therefore,  has  a  better 
chance  than  any  one  else  of  being,  so  to  speak, 
on  a  footing  of  intimacy  with  her.  She  resents 
being  looked  down  upon,  from  even  so  humble  an 


SLINDON  AND  BOGNOR.  67 

eminence  as  the  box-seat  of  a  wagonette.  For  our 
pains  she  let  us  into  several  delightful  little  secrets 
that  afternoon.  She  bade  us  stop  and  listen  to  the 
stillness,  if  one  can  listen  to  a  thing  which  is  not. 
How  still  it  was !  — so  still  that  some  sheep  grazing 
two  fields  away  made  the  only  sound  there  was. 
We  could  hear  their  soft  nibbling,  and  even  the 
noiseless  movement  of  their  feet  against  the  grass. 
A  bell,  a  few  moments  later,  deep-throated  and 
richly  sonorous,  pealed  out  a  chime  or  two  at  some 
far  distance,  coming  up  the  valley  from  Slindon. 
The  vibrations  in  the  air  seemed  to  stir  the  daisies 
anew,  —  tiny  bells  ringing  in  unison.  The  tasselled 
tops  of  the  oaks  above  our  heads  made  a  rustle 
in  the  air  that  had  something  feminine  about 
it.  It  was  like  the  flutter  of  a  woman's  silken 
gown. 

A  brisk  trot  of  two  miles  or  more  brought  the 
roofs  of  Slindon  within  sight. 

At  Slindon  we  had  been  promised  the  spectacle 
of  a  model  English  village,  with  a  model  specimen 
of  a  Saxon-Norman  church. 

Slindon  was  even  better  than  its  promise.  It 
was  an  ideal  little  village.  It  was  the  most  beau- 
tiful collection  of  thatched  houses,  vine- covered, 


58  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

garden-enclosed,  and  dimity-curtained,  we  saw  any- 
where in  England.  The  houses  were  so  perfect, 
we  suspected  tliem  of  being  on  show  for  purely  dec- 
orative purposes,  rather  than  designed  for  human 
habitations. 

>  "  Slindon  may  be  a  rustic,  but  she  is  also  a  con- 
summate coquette,"  exclaimed  Boston. 

The  thatched  houses  had  indeed  taken  on  end- 
less airs  of  refinement  and  knowing  ways  of  adorn- 
ment. The  roofs  were  of  just  the  right  color,  a 
warm  gray  turning  to  silver,  —  the  color  of  all 
others  to  go  with  pink  and  white.  The  houses  were 
built  of  brick,  and  then  stuccoed  a  dazzling  white. 
They  had  a  complexion  to  make  the  eyes  blink. 
But  what  with  the  rose-vines,  the  creepers,  and  the 
clematis,  their  white  faces  were  as  jealously  guarded 
as  a  beauty's  tender  skin.  Of  pink  there  was  abun- 
dance. Every  tiny  diamond  pane  was  filled  with 
roses  and  rose-geraniums,  their  petals  all  the  pinker 
for  being  enclosed  between  spotless  bits  of  white 
curtains. 

Each  little  cottage  stood,  besides,  in  the  midst 
of  a  blooming  garden,  a  rose  within  a  rose.  What 
with  the  honeysuckle,  the  azaleas,  the  great  East- 
ern lilies,  the  rose-vines,  and  the  window-pots,  the 


SLINDON  AND  BOGNOR.  69 

air  was  thick  and  luscious  with  the  fragrance  and 
perfume.  Nothing  at  once  more  flowery,  dainty, 
softly  brilliant,  and  yet  charmingly  and  harmoni- 
ously rustic,  could  be  imagined  than  these  two 
streets  running  at  right  angles  up  a  hillside,  which 
made  all  there  was  of  the  perfect  little  village  of 
Slindon. 

"  If  this  be  England,  and  I  had  been  a  Pilgrim 
Father,  I  don't  think  I  should  have  troubled  myself 
to  move,"  exclaimed  Boston,  as  he  let  the  reins  fall 
on  the  pony's  motionless  haunches. 

"  I  doubt  if  even  before  they  moved,  the  Pilgrim 
Fathers  had  a  pronounced  taste  for  gardening." 
Then  we  both  laughed  a  little ;  for  instinctively  we 
contrasted  the  bleak,  bold,  barren  New  England 
farmhouse,  its  slovenly  vegetation,  and  its  hideous 
color,  with  this  collection  before  us  of  ideal  little 
cottages  and  thatched  huts,  all  as  daintily  robed  as 
a  maiden  in  spring.  Indeed,  what  did  become  of 
the  Englishman's  instinct  for  beauty  when  he  trans- 
planted himself  across  the  seas  ?  Was  it  the  biting 
frost  of  Puritanism  that  killed  his  native  taste? 
Or  is  it  that  even  in  two  centuries  the  struggle  to 
subdue  a  great  continent  to  his  needs  and  necessi- 
ties has  not  yet  given  him  time  to  set  out  the  little 


60  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

garden  in  which  he  can  take  his  ease  ?  Together 
with  the  taste  for  gardening  which  the  Pilgrim 
Father  left  behind  him,  we  noticed  other  qualities 
this  little  village  possessed,  which  it  might  have 
been  wise  to  have  exported,  —  its  air  of  content,  for 
one  thing,  thrift  and  a  kind  of  mild-eyed  prosperity 
seeming  to  look  out  of  the  window  at  us  as  we 
passed.  This  appearance  of  well-being  may  have 
had  some  indirect  relation  to  the  fact  that  the  cat- 
tle seemed  sleeker  and  the  sheep  fatter  in  the  adja- 
cent fields  than  those  we  had  seen  on  the  uplands. 

The  church  we  found  to  be  less  entirely  satis- 
factory. It  had  certainly  once  been  Saxon,  and 
later  on,  Norman.  There  were  two  round-headed 
little  wmdows  a  Norman  would  have  scorned  to 
build,  and  an  early  Norman  doorway  in  the  porch 
which  the  later  early-English  architects  would  liave 
pronounced  equally  inelegant.  But  the  entire  little 
edifice  wore  a  thoroughly  modern  and  recently  reno- 
vated appearance  ;  so  that  it  was  no  surprise  to  come 
upon  the  disenchanting  and  familiar  date  1866,  to 
attest  the  fact  of  its  nineteenth-century  rebuilding. 
-  As  we  turned  from  the  village  towards  the  plain, 
there  was  a  meeting  of  four  roads. 

"  Which  road  to  the  Royal  Oaks  ? "  Boston  asked, 


SLINDON  AND  BOGNOR.  61 

in  his  dilemma,  of  a  slim  rustic  who  was  leaning 
against  a  gate,  with  his  eyes  glued  upon  us  as  he 
feasted  his  curiosity. 

"  Straight  ahead,  sur,  till  yer  come  ter  the  mill, 
and  then  there 's  sign-posts,"  the  boy  had  answered, 
and  readily  enough ;  but  he  remained  motionless. 

"  He  is  n't  genuine.  A  true  rustic  would  have 
pointed,"  I  said. 

For  his  "  straight  ahead "  left  us  bewildered ; 
before  us  there  were  three  "  straight  aheads." 
However,  we  plunged  recklessly  into  the  straight- 
est.  We  were  rewarded  by  soon  seeing  the  four 
great  white  arms  of  the  mill  waving  unblushingly 
in  the  sunlight.  Beneath  them  the  sign-post,  with 
less  manners  but  better  judgment  than  our  rustic, 
pointed  the  direction  of  our  destination. 

For  several  miles  now  our  road  lay  through 
the  plains,  —  flat,  fruitful  lowlands  towards  the  sea. 
There  was  a  succession  of  pretty  hamlets  and  of 
numberless  detached  farmhouses,  but  no  sign  of 
human  life,  except  the  farmers  who  were  busy  in 
the  fields  carting  or  pitching  hay.  The  huge  hay- 
ricks, cone-shaped  and  green,  were  the  only  rivals., 
in  these  flat  fields,  of  the  hills  beyond,  now  hazy  Id 
the  dimness  of  distance. 


62  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

"We  were  in  Bognor  before  we  knew  it.  The 
fields  led  us  directly  into  rows  of  neat,  tidy  little 
houses,  and  clean,  well-swept  streets. 

A  man  in  knickerbockers  with  a  tennis  racket, 
and  a  lady  wearing  a  thin  white  muslin  gown  and 
a  thick  fur  cape,  announced  to  us  that  the  season 
at  Bognor  had  already  begun. 

Other  signs  of  its  activity  greeted  us  as  we  pro- 
ceeded on  our  way.  Tennis  was  being  played,  with 
a  zeal  that  made  it  appear  to  be  a  serious  battle 
rather  than  a  harmless  contest  about  balls,  in  every 
square  inch  of  green  large  enough  to  hold  a  court. 
The  familiar  London  sign,  "Apartments  to  let," 
hung  above  the  tiny,  dazzlingly  clean  doors  of  the 
little  houses.  The  number  of  these  signs  was  con- 
clusive proof  that  Bognor's  season  was  not  as  yet 
at  its  height.  So  frequent  were  these  modest  ap- 
peals to  the  unlodged,  as  to  prepare  us  for  the 
comparative  quiet  we  found  brooding  over  the  little 
town. 

At  its  best,  however,  Bognor  could  never,  I  think, 
have  been  anything  but  a  dull  little  town.  It  was 
so  decorous,  so  painfully  clean,  so  oppressively  self- 
conscious  a  prude,  that  dulness  must  have  been  as 
much  a  part  of  its  being  as  were  its  demure  little 


SLINDON  AND  BOGNOR.  63 

airs  of  conventional  propriety.  What  has  the  sea 
to  do  with  conventionality  ?  Its  merest  ripplet  is 
Nature's  indignant  protest  against  too  clean  and 
well-swept  a  beach.  Here  there  was  no  beach  at 
all.  Instead  there  was  a  brick  sea-wall,  which  kept 
the  sea  at  a  proper  offish  distance.  The  waves 
broke  a  hundred  yards  out,  as  an  English  sea 
should  do  when  it  is  to  serve  as  the  tame  and  tepid 
bath  for  an  Englishman's  wife  and  children. 

The  houses  that  fronted  the  water  might  have 
been  London  houses,  suburban  London ;  there  was 
no  holiday  air  pervading  them.  There  was  noth- 
ing even  of  the  flowery,  pretty  picturesqueness 
which  had  charmed  us  in  some  of  the  country  inns 
and  taverns  we  had  passed  along  our  road.  These 
dull-brown  and  brick  fa9ades  were  the  epitome  of 
British  decorum.  Even  when  off  on  a  holiday,  it 
appears  that  the  Englishman  feels  he  must  build 
him  a  prison  in  which  he  can  lock  himself  in  and 
otliers  out. 

"  The  Englishman  can't  throw  off  his  social 
straight-jacket  even  when  he  puts  on  his  bathing- 
suit,"  I  said  in  a  fit  of  disgust  to  Boston.  "  Have 
you  noticed  the  bath-houses  ?  The  notices  on  the 
doors  are  little  chapters  of  autobiography." 


64  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

"They  are  of  a  piece  with  all  the  rest,"  was 
Boston's  answer.  On  the  doors  of  several  of  the 
little  houses  were  signs  in  large  printed  letters  of 
"  Elizabeth  Primrose,  aged  fifty,  bather  from  Teign- 
mouth,  where  she  had  been  bather  for  over  thirty- 
five  years." 

"  Even  one's  bath-woman  must  have  a  pedigree  !  " 
we  said,  and  then  we  laughed. 

But  we  were  the  only  laughers.  No  one  else  was 
gay.  Holidaying  at  the  seaside,  it  appears,  is  a 
serious  amusement  over  here,  to  be  enjoyed  in  a 
measured  spirit  of  conscientious  dulness.  Even 
the  children,  who  with  their  governesses  were 
gravely  walking  along  the  sea-wall,  were  evidently 
far  too  well  brought  up  to  look  upon  the  sea 
in  the  light  of  a  playfellow.  Other  promenaders 
there  were  whose  expression  was  familiar ;  it  was 
the  look  we  had  grown  to  know  in  London,  in  the 
Row,  —  that  of  being  bored  according  to  the  most 
correct  methods  of  a  well-bred  ennui.  A  few  very 
upright  young  ladies  were  sitting,  alone  or  in 
pairs,  under  huge  white  parasols,  on  the  little  iron 
benches.  They  were  looking  out  at  the  sea,  star- 
ing at  it  as  if  they  expected,  if  there  was  to  be  any 
conversation,  the  ocean  would  begin  it.     The  only 


SLINDON  AND  BOGNOR.  65 

talking  there  was,  was  being  done  by  several  stately 
old  ladies  in  bath-chairs.  They  were  each  accom- 
panied by  their  upright  handsome  husbands,  —  or 
such  we  took  them  to  be,  from  their  air  of  indiffer- 
ence to  the  ladies'  chatter  and  from  their  general 
appearance  of  command.  Why  is  it  that  in  Eng- 
land it  is  only  the  woman  who  grows  old  hideously  ? 
These  fine  old  gentlemen  were  pictures  of  blooming 
old  age,  with  their  pink  cheeks,  white  hair,  and 
well-knit,  erect,  and  graceful  figures.  It  appears 
that  one  must  cross  the  Channel  to  find  the  se- 
cret which  woman  holds  there  of  growing  old  both 
wittily  and  handsomely. 

It  was  with  but  little  regret  that  we  passed 
out  of  the  long,  stiff,  straight  little  streets,  no- 
ting, as  we  passed,  the  fact  of  how  cheerfully 
many  of  the  houses  gave  up  half  their  fagade  to 
the  great  business  of  proclaiming  their  names. 
Where  else  except  in  a  land  of  cockneys  would  a 
residence  twelve  by  ten  be  dignified  by  a  name, 
ostentatiously  paraded,  suitable  only  for  a  palatial 
dwelling  ?  «  The  Elms,"  the  "  Albert  Villa,"  the 
"Richmond  Mansion," — such  were  the  pretentious 
signs  painted  in  great  flaring  letters  over  every 
other  house-door  which  we  passed.     For  a  modest 


66  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

people   the   English   break   out   into   astonishing 
vagaries  of  ranitj. 

It  was  a  relief  to  turn  away  from  the  stiff,  vain 
little  town  into  the  country  road  once  more.  It 
was  a  flat  road.  But  there  was  no  monotony  in 
its  flatness.  Arms  and  branchlets  of  the  sea  swept 
up  into  the  fields  and  meadows,  making  bright 
pools  of  light.  In  the  air  there  was  a  delicious 
mingling  of  salty  vigor  and  sweet  earthy  smells, 
and  it  was  the  loveliest,  tenderest  hour  of  the  day. 
The  work  of  the  day  for  man  and  beast,  and  for 
the  sun  as  well,  was  done.  All  three  were  going 
to  their  evening  rest.  Men  with  rakes  over  their 
shoulders  were  following  wagons  so  plenteously 
laden  with  hay  that  they  generously  left  tithes 
along  the  roadside  for  stray  sheep.  A  boy  with  a 
sickle  over  his  straight  young  back  walked  near 
us,  whistling  a  gay  little  air.  The  sickle  was  re- 
peated in  silver  in  the  sky,  the  dawning  crescent 
of  the  young  moon  cleaving  the  eastern  horizon. 
Cows  in  groups  were  moving  slowly,  in  calm  con- 
tentment with  the  day's  bounty.  Earth  and  sky, 
under  the  dying  light,  were  changing  from  the 
gold  of  sunset  to  the  violets  and  deeper  purples 
of  twilight ;  it  was  the  feet  of  coming  Night  press- 


SLINDON  AND  BOGNOR.  67 

ing  out  the  rich  wine  of  color  from  the  fruitful 
land. 

But  the  gift  of  sensibility  to  the  beauties  of  na- 
ture had  not  been  given  to  all  three  of  our  party ; 
to  our  pony  the  charms  of  twilight  proved  no  sub- 
stitute for  a  good  supper.  The  Chichester  Cathe- 
dral spire,  which  had  guided  us  inland  with  its 
tapering  spiral  beauty,  appeared  to  grow  no  nearer 
for  all  our  frequent  use  of  the  whip.  Another  hour 
of  whipping,  of  desperate  spurts  of  energy  on  the 
part  of  the  worn  and  weary  pony,  of  manifold  losing 
of  our  way  amid  the  tortuous  streets  of  Chichester, 
which  was  a  far  larger  city  than  we  had  expected 
to  find,  and  behold  us  rattling  within  the  brick 
courtyard  of  "  The  Bird  and  the  Swallow." 


68  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CHICHESTER. 

"  'T^HE  Bird  and  the  Swallow  "  was  a  wise  little 
-*"  inn.  It  had  known  just  where  to  place 
itself  when  there  was  a  cathedral  in  town  to 
be  looked  at.  The  next  morning  we  awoke  to 
encounter  the  charm  of  a  surprise.  Our  win- 
dows, we  found,  opened  directly  on  the  cathedral. 
The  whole  of  the  beautiful  western  fa9ade  rose 
in  noble  dignity  beyond  the  trees  in  the  green 
close,  whose  branches  almost  rustled  against  our 
windows. 

Our  breakfast,  that  morning,  promised  to  prolong 
itself  into  an  indefinite  feast.  The  mise-erirseene 
in  our  cosey  little  sitting-room  was  altogether  per- 
fect. "  The  Bird  and  the  Swallow,"  we  confided  to 
each  other  over  the  crisp  toast,  was  to  be  num- 
bered among  the  ideal  inns.  That  conclusion  had 
been  reached  the  night  before,  when  a  particularly 
pretty  barmaid   and  the  stout  and  matronly  inn- 


CHICHESTER.  60 

keeper's  wife  had  preceded  us  to  our  rooms  with 
flaring  candles  and  a  pot  of  hot  tea. 
.  "  It'll  warm  ye,  ma'am,  and  ease  ye  after  yer  long 
drive,  ma'am ;  but  the  gentleman  '11  have  a  toddy, 
now,  won't  he  ?  —  a  drop  of  hot  Scotch  ? " 

Such  delicate  discrimination  merited  its  just  re- 
ward. Is  it  necessary  to  add  that  the  stout  landlady 
won  our  hearts  at  once  ?  She  had  been  the  first 
innkeeper  who  had  really  appeared  glad  to  see  us. 
The  "  Norfolk  Arms  "  was  much  too  splendid  an  es- 
tablishment to  be  moved  by  the  coming  or  the  going 
of  travellers.  Our  waiter  had  preserved  to  the  last 
an  impassive  composure  and  indifference,  seeming 
to  be  fully  conscious  of  what  was  expected  of  one 
who  lived  so  near  to  the  best  society.  But  the 
Chichester  inn  was  provincial,  —  uncompromisingly, 
unblushingly,  avowedly  provincial.  The  landlady 
was  not  above  showing  her  pleasure  at  the  coming 
of  travellers  tlie  size  of  whose  trunks  and  whose 
general  air  of  fatigue  promised  a  more  or  less 
lengthy  stay  in  the  dull  season.  She  had  bustled 
about  our  rooms  as  if  she  were  doing  the  honors 
of  her  own  house,  —  giving  a  twitch  to  the  white 
chintz  curtains,  rearranging  chairs  to  take  the  stiff 
look  out  of  the  room,  and  altogether  behaving  as  a 


70  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

human  being  should  whose  business  in  life  it  was 
to  make  travellers  comfortable  and  to  make  money 
out  of  them. 

"  I  presume  it  will  be  charged  in  the  bill,  all 
this  extra  pains  and  extra  cordiality,  but  I  don't 
mind.  One  gets  at  least  what  one  pays  for ;  and, 
besides,  she  really  works  for  it.  See  how  hot  and 
puffy  she  is  getting  !  " 

She  was  purple  as  she  tried  to  lift  one  of 
the  heavy  hand-bags  on  the  rack ;  but  she  was 
smiling  as  if  she  were  enjoying  it.  The  real 
misery  would  have  been  to  be  a  degree  less  hot 
and  less  officious.  Then  we  tried  to  picture  to 
ourselves  any  American  boarding-house  keeper 
working  herself  into  that  crimson  heat  of  active 
zeal. 

"  No  American  woman  could,  you  know.  Either 
she  would  be  so  thin  and  tired,  she  would  n't  have 
muscular  energy  to  spare,  or  else  she  would  be 
above  it,  —  above  waiting  on  her  'guests.'  She 
would  ring  a  bell,  which  no  one  would  answer, 
and  it  would  end  in  your  carrying  your  own  bag. 
There  is  nothing  like  a  democracy  for  inuring  the 
upper  classes  into  doing  their  own  work.  I  prefer 
a  monarchy  myself,  where  there  is  somebody  left 


CHICHESTER.  71 

in  the  class  below  you  who  is  willing,  for  a  con- 
sideration, to  wait  on  you." 

Boston  only  laughed.  He  was  too  weary  just 
then  to  reply.  But  I  could  see  that  the  excellen- 
ces of  the  English  system  produced  their  effect 
when,  the  next  morning,  we  descended  to  our  sit- 
ting-room to  find  a  snowy  table  laid  with  bits  of 
old  china  and  silver,  set  close  to  a  window,  through 
which  the  sun  was  shining  cheerily,  with  the  gray 
and  mottled  cathedral  mass  uplifting  its  greatness 
beyond  the  tree-tops.  We  finished  our  meal,  only 
to  discover,  as  we  leaned  farther  out  of  the  window 
to  gain  a  freer  view  of  the  spire,  that  beyond,  at 
the  right  of  the  cathedral,  rose  a  beautiful  square 
tower.  It  was  the  campanile,  —  the  only  detached 
bell-tower  adjoining  a  cathedral  now  existing  in 
England.  It  was  a  rugged,  massive  structure,  as 
different  as  possible  from  the  slender,  graceful 
campaniles  that  rise  into  the  melting  Italian  skies  ; 
but  its  gray  stones  were  full  of  color,  and  were 
peculiarly  rich  in  shadows,  which  we  found  were 
perpetually  haunting  its  fine  octagonal  crown  and 
girdling  its  turrets. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  street,  placed  at  just 
the  right  angle  to  make  it  a  perfect  pendant  to 


72  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

the  campanile,  was  another  structure,  —  one  so 
unique,  so  unusual,  and  so  altogether  lovely  as  to 
send  us  forth  into  the  street  that  we  might  gain  a 
nearer  view. 

Was  Chichester  to  be  a  series  of  surprises  ? 
Was  the  little  city  a  museum  of  architectural  mas- 
terpieces ?  We  had  expected  the  cathedral,  but  had 
been  told  that  the  town  was  dull.  Yet  here  were 
three  buildings,  brought  within  the  focus  of  our  sit- 
ting-room windows,  which  merely  to  look  upon  would 
repay  one  for  many  miles  of  travel.  Who  are  those 
ingenious  ignoramuses  who  write  the  guide-books, 
whose  dexterity  for  telling  us  the  things  we  don't 
want  to  know  about  is  only  equalled  by  their 
criminal  incapacity  when  dealing  with  the  things 
which  are  really  worth  while  ?  Perhaps,  however, 
we  really  are  more  deeply  in  the  debt  of  these 
self-constituted  misleaders  than  we  willingly  own. 
How  truly  dull  would  travel  be  if  all  travellers 
were  wise !  If  it  be  true  that  happiness  lies  more 
in  acquisition  than  in  possession,  the  truism  must 
hold  that  in  travel  the  chief  charm  is  to  be  found  in 
the  act  of  discovery  rather  than  in  the  enjoyment 
of  the  thing  discovered,  ^rgo,  a  well-written  guide- 
book would  defeat  the  chief  end  of  one's  journey. 


CHICHESTER.  73 

The  name  of  the  beautiful  structure  we  found, 
on  consulting  the  Chichester  guide-book,  to  be  the 
Market  Cross.  There  was  certainly  no  appear- 
ance of  any  salable  merchandise  ;  nor,  at  a  first 
glance,  did  there  seem  to  be  any  signs  to  mark  its 
remote  resemblance  to  a  cross.  It  was  a  perfect 
octagon,  whose  eight-arched  openings  made  a  cir- 
cular arcade.  In  the  centre  of  the  little  building 
was  a  massive  pillar,  from  which,  as  branches  grow 
out  of  a  palm,  the  finely  groined  roof  shot  forth  its 
thick  ribs.  Its  exterior  blossomed  with  ornaments, 
flowering  into  richly  decorated  finials  and  flying 
buttresses,  and  budding  into  a  wealth  of  cusps. 
About  the  whole  little  structure  there  was  a  de- 
lightful luxuriance  and  efflorescence.  It  had  evi- 
dently bloomed  into  beauty  at  a  wonderfully  perfect 
moment  of  the  later  Gothic  inspiration. 

The  Cross  being  placed  at  the  juncture  of  the 
four  principal  streets  of  the  little  city,  its  arcade 
formed  the  natural  crossing  for  the  street  passen- 
gers. Beneath  the  vaulted  roof  there  was  a  cease- 
less patter  and  echo  of  passing  footsteps,  of  broken 
speech  and  laughter,  —  the  noise  of  people  meeting, 
talking,  and  parting.  It  was  as  if  a  huge  umbrella 
had  been  opened,  beneath  which  all  the  townsfolk 


74  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

had  come  to  take  refuge  for  a  moment  of  time 
away  from  the  dazzle  of  the  sunshine  and  the 
noonday  glare. 

It  now  serves,  doubtless,  as  wise  and  admirable 
an  end,  we  said  to  each  other,  as  the  original  pur- 
pose which  its  founder  had  in  view.  It  had  been 
given  to  the  city,  in  the  latter  part  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  by  one  of  the  artist-bishops  of  the  cathe- 
dral, to  the  end  that  it  might  delight  his  own  eyes 
by  its  beauty  and  relieve  the  city  from  an  extor- 
tionate tax.  The  poor  farmers  of  the  neighbor- 
hood were  here  provided  with  a  shelter  where 
they  might  sell  their  produce  —  their  eggs,  butter, 
and  other  articles  —  free  from  toll. 

We  have  changed  all  that  in  these  days.  The 
poor  still  pay  toll,  but  we  call  it  by  a  loftier 
name ;  and  so  the  Cross  is  a  market  no  longer, 
but  the  open-air  lounging-chair  of  every  weary  or 
idle  soul  who  cares  to  give  his  leisure  an  airing. 

We  were  neither  weary  nor  willingly  idle  ;  but 
we  sat  there,  and  still  continued  to  sit,  finding  it 
too  perfect  a  point  of  observation  to  leave.  All 
the  life  and  hubbub  of  the  little  city  were  about  us. 
At  least  half  a  dozen  streets  were  in  full  view. 
Instead   of  a  dull   city,   as   we  looked   out  upon 


Chichester  Cross. 


Page  74. 


CHICHESTER.  75 

its  busy  life,  we  found  it  uncommonly  sprightly. 
There  was  a  brisk  commercial  stir  and  life  bus- 
tling up  and  down  its  streets.  There  were  so 
many  shops,  one  was  not  surprised  at  the  multi- 
plicity of  buyers.  The  women  had  the  eager  air 
common  to  the  sex  when  there  are  plenty  of  shop- 
windows  bristling  with  novelties.  There  was  a 
modishness  in  their  attire,  suggestive  of  the  sig- 
nificant conclusion  that  some  of  those  tempting 
London  fashions  were  being  worn  by  the  happy 
buyers  with  a  genteel  consciousness  of  an  ele- 
gance superior  to  the  prevailing  provincial  styles. 
There  was  another  cause  which  awakened  our 
suspicions  that  something  else  besides  the  natural 
instinct  of  the  sex  for  wearing  only  the  latest 
conceits  of  fashion  may  have  inspired  the  smart 
costumes  with  which  the  streets  abounded.  Chi- 
chester, true  to  its  ancient  Roman  origin,  is  still  a 
camp.  We  had  passed  the  barracks  of  the  regi- 
ment now  quartered  here,  the  night  before.  There 
were  brilliant  dashes  of  color  abroad  this  morning,  — 
brave  scarlets,  and  jaunty  red  caps,  the  latter  tilted 
at  the  most  extraordinary  angle  compatible  with 
adhesiveness,  worn  by  dashing  young  braves,  who 
walked  with  the  step  of  young  giants  off  on  a  stroll. 


76  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

The  direct  relation  between  a  military  button 
and  the  corresponding  activity  of  a  woman's  vanity 
has  never  yet  been  satisfactorily  explained.  But 
we  all  know  that  the  appearance  of  a  single  mili- 
tary coat  has  been  known  to  change  the  millinery 
of  an  entire  town  from  a  condition  of  stagnation  to 
one  of  frenzied  animation. 

Besides  the  red  coats  and  the  pretty,  fresh  faces, 
the  streets  were  filled  with  numbers  of  traps  and  car- 
riages, many  of  them,  from  the  plethoric  baskets 
strapped  at  the  back,  evidently  having  been  driven 
in  from  the  surrounding  country.  Gentlemen  from 
box-seats  were  giving  orders  to  fruiterers.  Stout 
ladies  were  handed  down  from  drags  by  their  foot- 
men, with  an  air  of  serious  concern,  to  the  level  of 
the  shop  windows.  One  charmingly  pretty  girl  rode 
up  with  her  groom  to  a  book-shop  near  us,  and  dis- 
mounted. She  stood  for  a  brief  moment,  holding 
her  habit  over  her  arm,  as  she  looked  in  at  the 
window  over  the  titles  of  some  new  books.  Her 
sweet,  fine  profile,  her  straight,  firm  figure,  with  its 
air  of  breeding  and  refinement,  made  a  charming 
picture  in  the  midst  of  the  old  street  and  among 
the  motley  crowd  of  passers-by. 

Altogether,  we    repeated    to  each    other,   Chi- 


CHICHESTER.  11 

Chester  was  a  charming  little  town  ;  were  this  to 
be  taken  as  a  typical  English  provincial  town,  the 
spectacle  of  its  stirring  life  makes  the  secret 
of  England's  greatness  the  more  understandable. 
Even  these  remote  little  English  towns  and  cities, 
it  appears,  are  centres  of  life  and  movement. 
Throughout  the  whole  extent  of  this  wonderful 
island  there  is  the  flow  of  quick  arterial  blood; 
its  very  extremities  are  replete  with  nervous  life. 
There  are  no  stagnant  places,  no  paralyzed  mem- 
bers, in  its  compact  little  frame.  London  is  not 
the  only  head  or  the  sole  heart  of  this  admirably 
organized  kingdom.  The  pulse  and  throb  of  active 
life  thrills  to  its  remotest  finger-tips. 

From  the  picturesque  point  of  view,  the  beauty 
of  Chichester  appeared  to  have  been  focussed  in 
the  buildings  about  us.  The  town  wore  a  suffi- 
ciently venerable  appearance  to  be  in  keeping  with 
the  gray  and  mossy  fronts  of  the  cathedral,  the 
campanile,  and  the  Cross.  The  houses  were  for 
the  most  part  uninteresting.  Commerce  is  as  bru- 
tal as  war,  and  defaces  as  wantonly  as  the  latter 
destroys  ;  and  Chichester  was,  and  is,  distinctively 
commercial.  It  has  been  for  many  generations 
the  great  wool-fair  of  the  kingdom.  ^ 


78  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

From  the  historical  standpoint  Chichester  may 
be  said  to  have  had  a  career  replete  with  vicissi- 
tudes. For  so  small  a  city  it  has  amassed  a  good 
deal  of  historical  experience.  Its  origin  was,  of 
course,  Saxon.  No  English  city  which  respects 
itself  but  points  with  pride  to  its  heathen  an- 
cestry, when  its  barbarous  ancestors  fiercely  wor- 
shipped Thor  and  Odin.  Chichester  was  Roman 
before  it  was  Saxon,  being  one  of  the  chief  Roman 
settlements,  known  as  Regnum.  All  these  south- 
ern cities  were  for  the  most  part  Norman  camps. 
They  were  on  tlie  high-road  to  the  sea,  and 
were  the  natural  halting-places  of  the  enemy  or 
of  the  brave  defenders  of  the  soil.  There  is  a 
temple  just  out  of  the  city,  at  Goodwood,  erected 
by  the  Duke  of  Richmond,  containing  a  slab  which 
brings  Roman  paganism  wonderfully  near.  It 
bears  the  inscription :  "  The  college  or  company  of 
artificers,  and  they  who  preside  over  the  sacred 
rites  or  hold  office  by  the  authority  of  King  Cogi- 
dubnus,  the  legatee  of  Tiberius  Claudius  Augustus, 
in  Britain,  dedicated  this  temple  to  Neptune  and 
Minerva,  for  the  welfare  of  the  Imperial  Family ; 
Pudens,  the  son  of  Pudentinus,  giving  the  ground." 
Minerva  and  Neptune  next  gave  way  to  Thor  and 


CHICHESTER.  79 

Odin  ;  for  gods  succeeded  one  another,  as  dynas- 
ties did,  on  these  ancient  battle-grounds.  The 
shrine  was  erected  by  the  victorious,  that  they 
might  have  a  deity  to  pray  to  after  they  had  done 
with  the  killing.  If  all  the  warriors  turned  wor- 
shippers, the  temples  about  Chichester  must  always 
have  been  full ;  for  those  old  warriors  had  an  ap- 
petite for  blood  which  makes  a  modern  soldier 
seem  a  very  feeble  production. 

When  ^lle  and  his  son  Cissa  took  Regnum  from 
the  Roman  Britons,  they  "  slew  all  that  dwelt  therein, 
nor  was  there  thenceforth  one  Brit  left,"  says  the 
old  chronicler.  When  there  were  no  others  left  to 
kill,  they  slew  themselves.  After  a  long  period  of 
famine,  the  hungry  Saxons,  linking  themselves  in 
companies  of  forties  and  fifties,  sought  to  put  an 
end  to  their  sufferings  by  throwing  themselves  into 
the  sea.  What  a  spectacle  must  that  wild  horde 
of  undisciplined  passions  have  been,  dancing  their 
fearless  dance  to  the  sea !  Even  in  suicide,  it  ap- 
pears, they  chose  to  march  bravely,  in  battalions,  to 
this  voluntary  death.  They  knew  not  how  to  en- 
dure, but  they  still  preserved  their  instinct  of 
bravery.  Christianity  came  at  last  to  teach  this 
brute  force  its  own  strength. 


80  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

Hence  the  cathedral.  The  battle-axe  was  laid 
aside  for  the  chisel.  It  is  impossible,  I  think,  to 
compute  the  tremendous  influence  which  the  build- 
ing of  these  great  cathedrals  must  have  exercised 
on  the  mediaeval  character.  Much  stress  has 
been  laid  on  the  enlarging  and  civilizing  uses  of 
the  Crusades.  The  Crusades  unquestionably  made 
experienced  travellers  of  the  mediaeval  ascetics; 
but  a  cathedral  was  a  finer  experience  than  a  cru- 
sade. It  developed  the  humanities.  It  kept  men 
at  home,  and  taught  them  the  sweet  uses  of  sympa- 
thy, of  interest  in  a  common  object,  and  brought 
near  to  them  the  experiences  of  self-sacrifice.  It 
developed  the  yearning  faculties,  the  longing  for  the 
exercise  of  taste  and  skill,  into  trained  talents  which 
could  be  consecrated  to  the  highest  achievement. 

What  a  stirring  fire  of  enthusiasm,  for  instance, 
kindled  the  builders  of  the  great  Chartres  Cathe- 
dral !  Powerful  men,  proud  of  their  riches  and 
accustomed  to  a  delicate  and  luxurious  life,  har- 
nessed themselves  to  the  shafts  of  carts  to  con- 
vey stones,  lime,  wood,  and  every  necessary  ma- 
terial for  the  construction  of  the  sacred  edifice. 
"  Sometimes  a  thousand  persons,  men  and  women, 
are  harnessed  to  the   same  cart,  so  heavy  is  the 


CHICHESTER,  81 

load ;  nevertheless  such  a  profound  silence  reigns, 
that  not  the  least  whisper  is  heard.  When  the}' 
stop  on  the  road,  they  speak  only  of  their  sins, 
which  they  confess  with  tears  and  prayers.  Then 
the  priests  make  them  promise  to  stifle  all  hatred 
and  forgive  all  debts.  Should  any  one  be  found 
who  is  so  hardened  as  to  be  unwilling  to  forgive 
his  enemies  and  refuse  to  submit  to  the  pious  ex- 
hortations, he  is  at  once  unharnessed  from  the  cart, 
and  driven  out  of  the  holy  band."  This  is  quoted 
from  an  extremely  interesting  history  of  Notre 
Dame  de  Chartres,  written  by  Ahh6  Bulteau, 

No  record  brings  to  us  any  such  account  of  the 
pious  banding  together  of  English  nobles  and 
peasants  for  the  dual  purpose  of  purging  their 
souls  by  penance  and  hastening  the  completion 
of  their  grand  cathedral.  The  Englishman's  en- 
thusiasm is  colder,  even  when  under  the  influence 
of  the  deepest  emotion.  His  piety  is  never  a  sen- 
sational debauch ;  he  is  under  no  such  dramatic 
necessity  for  the  display  of  his  sensibilities  as 
animates  the  excitable  Gaul,  to  whom  the  experi- 
ence of  emotion  is  misery  unless  it  can  be  enacted 
before  an  audience,  however  small.  And  thus,  I 
fancy,  the  patience  and  self-denial  and  the  hard-won 


82  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

triumphs  over  rebellious  spirits  and  haughty  souls 
lie  buried  in  the  silence  of  the  sculptured  stones, 
whose  enduring  beauty  is  the  nobler  record. 

As  an  eloquent  instance  of  perseverance,  Chi- 
chester Cathedral  may  be  said  to  be  unequalled. 
Its  existence  is  proof  of  the  indomitable  energy 
of  man  in  restoring  what  the  elements  destroy. 
Heaven  itself  appeared  to  be  in  league  with  the 
force  of  the  winds  and  the  fury  of  the  flames. 
What  fire  did  not  consume,  the  winds  wrecked. 
When  the  battalions  of  the  skies  had  ceased  their 
pillaging,  the  soldiers  of  the  Commonwealtli  took 
possession  with  their  swords.  But  in  spite  of 
revolutions,  of  wind-storms,  and  the  scorching 
breath  of  fire,  the  beautiful  cathedral,  with  its 
lovely  spire,  wore  a  wonderfully  complete  and 
serene  front  as  we  walked  towards  it  on  that 
bright  summer  morning.  It  is  set  in  the  midst 
of  its  close,  a  little  apart  from  the  main  thorough- 
fare. A  fringe  of  trees  separates  the  brisk  step 
of  the  passer-by  from  the  silent  footsteps,  forever 
stilled,  which  lie  beneath  the  old  gravestones. 
Once  within  the  iron  gates,  one  feels  the  influence 
of  that  peculiar  hush  which  the  nearness  of  God's 
temple  always  brings. 


CHICHESTER  83 

Who  has  not  felt  this  peace  and  quiet  in  the  air 
as  he  has  stepped  aside  from  the  bustle  of  the 
busy  world  into  the  still,  calm  burial-ground 
surrounding  some  old  church  ?  It  is  only  a  dis- 
tance of  a  few  yards,  and  yet  how  remote  the 
world  seems,  after  a  few  moments  alone  there ! 
One  may  be  neither  Christian  nor  believer,  neither 
communicant  nor  worshipper ;  and  yet  such  is  the 
deep  tranquillity  of  the  place,  such  the  sweet  and 
restful  peace  beneath  those  cool  aisles  of  the  over- 
shadowing trees,  that  unconsciously  the  heart  be- 
comes stilled,  the  soul  is  eased  of  its  burden,  and 
life,  for  a  brief  moment's  space  at  least,  is  lived 
softly,  peacefully,  lovingly.  A  blessing  seems  to 
be  abroad  in  the  air,  and  to  have  alighted  for  a 
second's  space  in  our  bosoms. 

This  feeling  is  intensified  in  English  church- 
yards. A  beautiful  fashion  of  appropriating  a 
large  space  of  green  is  one  of  the  peculiar  charms 
of  English  cathedral  buildings.  The  velvety  lawn 
and  the  grove  of  trees  are  an  essential  part  of  the 
English  builder's  plan,  in  the  arrangement  of  his 
architectural  effects.  The  cathedral  is  thus  pre- 
served against  accidental  surroundings.  It  is  set 
apart,  away  from  the  disturbing  influences  of  in- 


84  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

congruous  buildings.  Unlike  the  great  continental 
cathedrals,  an  English  cathedral  is  neither  hidden 
among  the  slums  of  an  old  market-place  nor  bar- 
barously exposed  to  the  inclemencies  of  the  weather 
on  a  barren  hill-top.  Sheltered  amid  its  well- 
wooded  paths,  the  entire  mass  of  the  beautiful 
structure  rises  unencumbered  and  unobstructed. 

Apart  from  the  admirable  advantages  gained  by 
such  a  wise  combination  of  the  beauties  of  nature 
and  of  art,  there  is  an  added  charm,  —  the  ca- 
thedral appears  to  have  an  ideal  poetic  isolation, 
the  effect  of  its  separateness  as  a  temple  being 
thus  the  more  fully  emphasized. 

It  would  have  been  impossible,  for  instance,  for 
]ust  the  effect  which  the  exterior  of  this  cathedral 
produced  on  us,  as  we  approached  it,  to  have  been 
wrought  by  any  continental  cathedral.  The  deep 
shade  of  the  trees,  the  thick  sweet  grass,  the  quiet 
pathways,  and  the  shadows  resting  on  the  grave- 
stones were  the  prelude  to  the  deeper  sensations 
the  interior  of  the  church  itself  was  to  awaken. 
We  were  keyed  into  an  emotional  feeling  before  we 
entered  the  temple.  It  is  scarcely  a  matter  of 
wonderment  that  men  in  the  worst  times  of  Anne 
and  the  Georges,  when  the  most  exquisite  Gothic 


CHICHESTER.  85 

carvings  and  altar-pieces  were  destroyed,  should 
have  spared  the  grass  and  the  trees.  An  Eng- 
lishman is  a  nature-lover  even  when  he  turns 
iconoclast. 

Entering  the  low  portal,  we  discovered  with  de- 
light that  we  had  the  interior  of  the  church  to 
ourselves.  Not  even  the  flutter  of  a  verger's  gown 
was  to  be  discerned.  We  could  sit  down  unmo- 
lested on  the  little  rush-bottomed  chairs,  and  enjoy 
the  beauty  about  us  without  feeling  that  our  sensa- 
tions were  to  be  summoned  up  to  order. 

Our  first  impression  was  one  of  bewilderment. 
The  interior  of  Chichester  appeared  to  be  three  or 
four  churches  made  one  ;  not  because  of  its  size, 
but  because  of  its  extraordinary  architectural  vari- 
ety of  design.  Imagine  a  Norman  nave,  so  massive 
that  it  appears  to  grow  out  of  the  earth,  with 
square-capped  columns  and  round  arches  rearing 
their  sturdy  strength  up  into  the  roof  beyond,  tier 
on  tier.  This  massive  nave  is  flanked  on  either 
side  by  two  slender,  graceful  Gothic  aisles,  as  light 
and  delicate  in  their  lines  as  the  branches  of  so 
many  young,  trees.  As  if  this,  as  an  architectural 
shock,  were  not  sufficient  to  have  satisfied  builders 
in  pursuit  of  novelties,  a  walk  toward  the  south 


86  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

transept  and  the  Lady  Chapel  introduced  us  to  the 
fantastic  elaborations  and  rich  traceries  of  the  four- 
teenth-century workers.  Beyond,  out  among  the 
trees  and  grass  of  the  cloisters,  the  upright  per- 
pendicular lines  of  the  still  later  Gothic  showed 
that  in  this  most  curious  and  interesting  little 
cathedral  one  could  trace  the  growth  and  flower- 
ing 6f  the  English  taste  in  architecture  during 
those  five  hundred  years  when  the  pre-eminent 
qualities  of  its  excellence  and  beauty  made  Eng- 
land take  its  place  among  the  two  or  three  great 
and  original  masters  in  the  art.  In  no  other 
English  cathedral,  perhaps,  can  the  transition  in 
styles  be  so  distinctly  traced.  Chichester,  con- 
sidered from  this  point  of  view,  may  be  said  to 
be  a  mosaic  of  English  experiments  in  cathedral 
building. 

The  result  as  a  whole  is  more  interesting  than 
beautiful.  The  absence  of  a  distinct  unity  of  plan 
or  design  makes  one  tremendously  conscious  of  the 
effort  there  has  been  in  it  all.  The  Norman  bishops 
planned  one  thing,  which  the  Early  English  and 
later  Perpendicular  architects  did  their  best  either 
to  obliterate  or  to  destroy.  But  strength  is  more 
persistent    than   grace;   and   so    all  through  the 


CHICHESTER.  87 

charming  geometric  lace-work  the  rugged  massive 
ribs  and  round-arched  vertebrae  of  the  Norman 
structure  protrude  their  giant  strength. 

A  certain  coldness  and  want  of  color,  and  also 
a  sense  of  the  loss  of  that  contrast  that  comes 
with  prismatic  light,  made  these  effects  and  this 
architectural  diversity  even  more  conspicuous. 
The  whole  interior  was  as  gray  as  a  convent. 
There  was  none  of  that  beautiful,  mysterious  clois- 
tral twilight  which  pervades  the  atmosphere  in  con- 
tinental cathedrals,  —  an  atmosphere  that  makes 
their  dim  aisles  as  shadowy  as  if  enveloped  in 
some  delicately  tinted  fog.  Here  the  pale  sunlight 
brought  the  colorless  pallor  of  this  interior  into 
almost  cruel  relief.  The  absence  of  glass  would 
account  for  something  of  this  defect,  there  being 
only  a  few  modern  stained-glass  windows  in  the 
entire  edifice.  But  even  where  deep  shadows  were 
made  by  some  architectural  feature,  the  contrast 
they  brought  to  the  whole  was  sombre.  In  the 
Norman  triforium  the  shadows  were  black ;  it  was 
the  blackness  of  the  dungeon  rather  than  the  rich 
depth  of  blended  shade. 

We  did  not  escape  the  verger,  after  all.  He  dis- 
covered us  just  in  time  to  prevent  our  making  the 


»o  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

complete  tour  of  the  cathedral.  We  had  not  seen 
the  tombs,  of  course,  having  neglected  them  for 
the  above  less  important  features.  But  the  little 
verger  was  a  man  of  determination.  He  had  had  to 
deal  with  indifferent  and  rebellious  tourists  before. 
He  soon  brought  us  round  to  the  correct  sepulchral 
attitude  ;  not  a  mortuary  urn  was  allowed  to  pass 
unnoticed.  He  presented  us  first  to  the  bishops, 
as  they  lay  in  state,  with  mitre  and  crozier  and 
archiepiscopal  hat.  Each  had  his  history,  of  which 
only  the  commendable  features  had  evidently  been 
confided  to  the  verger.  One  must  go  to  Fronde's 
profane  pages  for  the  scandals  which  made  the 
lives  of  some  of  these  blameless  gentlemen  such  a 
curious  mixture  of  piety  and  immorality.  Their 
frailties  live  on  in  history  ;  their  virtues  appear 
to  have  been  infolded  within  their  august  robes  of 
state.  The  recumbent  figures  of  the  knights  in  full 
armor  were  more  to  our  taste ;  there  is  some- 
thing honest  in  men  who  go  to  heaven  armed  cap- 
a-pie,  as  if  the}^  meant  to  fight  for  their  rights  even 
at  Saint  Peter's  gate.  By  the  side  of  one  of  these 
warriors,  apparelled  in  the  stiff  narrow  gowns  of 
the  fourteenth  century,  lay  the  effigy  of  his  lady. 
The  knight  had  taken  off  his  glove,  and  held  in  his 


CHICHESTER.  <S^ 

own  the  slim,  tapering  fingers  of  his  calm-browed 
spouse.  The  couple  are  Richard  Fitzalan,  Earl  of 
Arundel,  and  his  Countess.  The  former  was  be- 
headed by  reason  of  too  great  fidelity  to  the  Duke 
of  Gloucester,  in  King  Richard's  reign.  King 
Richard  was  not  a  man  to  be  stopped  by  too  nice  a 
feeling  if  he  had  a  purpose  to  accomplish.  After 
the  Earl's  interment,  "it  having  been  bruited 
around  for  a  miracle  that  his  head  had  grown 
to  his  body  again,"  that  thorough-going  monarch 
ordered  the  tomb  opened.  Little  wonder  that  the 
poor  gentleman  wanted  the  cold  comfort  of  holding 
his  wife's  hand  down  through  the  ages,  after  such 
a  double  indignity  ! 

Our  verger  was  filled  with  grief  over  the  fact 
of  the  loss  of  the  fine  old  brasswork, — the  crosses 
and  the  shields  inserted  into  the  stone  slabs. 
They  had  all  been  stolen  or  destroyed  by  the 
soldiers  of  the  Commonwealth.  The  pillaging  and 
desecration  in  this  little  cathedral  were  riotous  dur- 
ing the  Revolution.  Sir  William  Waller's  troops 
"  ran  up  and  down  with  their  swords,  defacing  the 
monuments  of  the  dead,  and  hacking  the  seats  and 
the  stalls."  These  Puritan  warriors  must  have 
been   connoisseurs   as  well   as   iconoclasts.     They 


90  CATHEDRAL  DAYS 

knew  just  what  to  smash  and  to  steal.  They 
stripped  the  cathedral  as  bare  as  onlj  an  educated 
eye  could  have  directed. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  they  smashed  all  the  old  glass,  and 
they  stole  all  our  brasses.  The  jewels  in  the  sculp- 
tures, did  you  notice,  ma'am,  they  was  stole,  I 
fancy,"  was  our  guide's  mournfully  resentful  sum- 
mary of  those  old  days  of  pious  pillaging.  He 
could  not  have  been  more  indignantly  melancholy 
had  he  held  his  office  during  tlie  Puritan  raid.  The 
sculpture  to  which  he  referred  was  some  most  in- 
teresting old  Norman  work,  of  which  we  were  to 
see  more  at  Salisbury.  The  stolen  jewels,  which 
formed  the  eye-sockets  in  the  faces  of  the  rude 
figures,  had  left  holes  that  looked  like  deep  wounds. 
This  early  Norman  sculpture  is  strangely  like 
early  Assyrian  and  Indian  work.  All  archaic  work 
has  a  more  or  less  close  resemblance  ;  for  it  corre- 
sponds to  the  primitive  art  impulse,  to  the  period 
of  the  beginning  of  a  nation's  art.  The  verger,  we 
noticed,  drew  his  finger  over  the  stiff  draperies 
lovingly,  as  if  he  wished  to  smooth  out  some  of 
their  rigidity.  It  was  when  the  sad-faced  little 
man,  however,  came  to  the  recital  of  the  falling  of 
the  spire,  that  he  touched  the  apogee  of  his  dra- 


CHICHESTER.  91 

matic  capabilities.  He  drew  us  into  the  choir,  above 
which  soars  the  present  lovely  and  modern  spire. 
He  assured  us  that  long  before  any  one  else  had 
suspected  the  old  spire  of  weakness  he  knew  that 
it  was  doomed. 

"  Why,  ma'am,  the  fissures  was  in  the  walls  as 
big  as  crevices.  The  sides  'ere  of  this  'ere  arch 
was  as  wrinkled  as  an  old  shoe.  It  wasn't  any 
use  patchin'  of  such  walls  as  that.  No  spire  was 
goin'  to  set  firm  on  them  rickety  legs.  All  the 
workmen  in  the  country  could  n't  make  an  old  man 
stand  straight ;  and  that  was  what  these  walls  was, 
hold  men  that  'ad  got  tired.  They  couldn't  'old 
themselves  hup,  much  less  a  big  tall  spire.  Well, 
the  cathedral  was  full  of  workmen  who  done  their 
best.  They  was  a-workin'  and  a-workin' ;  they 
done  their  best,  I  will  say,  and  when  the  storm 
came,  they  was  like  giants,  —  they  never  gave  hup 
night  nor  day.  It  was  an  April  storm,  and  every 
time  the  wind  'owled  every  man  in  Chichester 
trembled.  There  was  n't  a  closed  hi  in  Chichester 
that  night.  Why !  every  one  on  us,  men  and 
boys,  'ad  grown  hup  under  that  hold  spire.  We 
loved  it  as  we  did  our  own.  But  it  'ad  to  go. 
When   mornin'   broke,  the   storm  was   a  tempest. 


92  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

We  could  almost  'ear  the  great  spire  a-rockin'  in 
the  wind.  And  then  it  fell.  We  was  all  out  in  the 
streets,  bareheaded,  when  it-  caved.  It  fell,  sur, 
just  like  it  was  a  telescope,  a-falling  into  itself. 
It  did  n't  do  no  harm  to  nobody  nor  nothin'  but 
just  itself.  It  was  just  God's  mercy  that  watched 
over  it,  and  when  it  was  gone  a  prayer  was  on 
every  lip,  and  a  tear  in  every  hi ;  and,  sur,  oh,  sur, 
but  was  n't  the  dust  awful  ?  It  was  weeks  and 
weeks  before  we  was  clean  and  to  rights."  And 
the  little  man  began  furtively  to  dust  a  near  choir- 
stall,  as  if  the  memory  of  that  time  had  brought 
up  the  old  habit. 

The  cathedral  guide-books  tell  the  story  of  this 
famous  falling  in  of  the  old  spire  in  1861  with 
more  elaborateness  of  detail,  but  the  old  verger's 
account  we  found  quite  as  accurate  and  far  more 
picturesque.  After  the  debris  had  been  cleared 
away,  designs  for  the  rebuilding,  based  on  the  old 
models,  were  immediately  begun.  The  result  is 
the  present  beautiful  structure.  Many  autliorities 
prefer  it  to  its  famous  Salisbury  rival ;  and,  indeed, 
in  its  aerial  lightness  and  grace  and  its  perfection 
of  proportion,  it  would  be  difficult  to  conceive  a 
spire   more   pleasing.     It  possesses    that  genuine 


CHICHESTER.  93 

soaring  quality  without  which  a  spire  always 
seems  to  miss  its  intended  effect.  It  is  little  won- 
der that  the  inhabitants  of  Chichester  loved  their 
spire ;  for  Chichester,  a  flat  city  in  a  flat  country, 
would  be  as  unnoticed  as  featureless  plainness  ever 
is.  This  lovely  arrow  shot  into  the  sky  makes 
the  city  as  conspicuous  as  some  old  veteran  who, 
ere  he  launches  his  weapon,  takes  a  fine  and  noble 
attitude. 


94  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 


CHAPTER  V. 

GOODWOOD. 

'THHE  next  day  an  important  transaction  was  to 
take  place.  We  were  to  hire  another  horse. 
This  ordinarily  simple  matter  had  come  to  assume 
serious  proportions.  The  Chichester  mind  we  found 
even  more  obtuse  in  the  recognition  of  honesty 
—  that  apparently  rare  virtue  in  rural  England  — 
than  Arundel.  The  town,  as  one  man,  had  re- 
fused to  trust  us  with  even  so  much  as  a  she-ass 
outside  its  gates.  Three  carriages  and  as  many 
horses  had  been  stolen  within  the  memory  of  the 
oldest  inhabitant.  The  most  credulous  believer  in 
mankind  among  the  Chichester  inhabitants  refused 
to  add  a  fourth  to  such  a  list. 

Clearly  something  must  be  done.  We  could 
hardly  proceed  on  our  tour  subject  to  such  re- 
peated suspicions  of  our  honesty,  and  continue, 
conscientiously,  to  call  it  a  pleasure-trip.  It  would 
be   almost  better   to   elope   with    a   horse    and   a 


GOODWOOD.  95 

suitable  trap,  and  have  done  with  honest  dealing. 
I  wonder  if  such  be  not  the  origin  of  half  the  wick- 
edness of  the  world !  Every  one  suspects  every  one 
else  ;  and  some  among  us,  not  being  able  to  make  a 
stand  against  public  opinion,  end  by  becoming  that 
which  it  is  expected  we  in  reality  are. 

We  bethought  ourselves,  however,  of  a  compro- 
mise with  villany.  A  London  friend  had.  given  us 
a  letter  to  a  gentleman  living  in  Chichester;  we 
would  present  it  in  the  hope  that  he  would  help 
us  in  our  dilemma.  He  did  better ;  he  solved  the 
whole  difficulty. 

"  Why  not  hire  a  trap  out  and  out  ?  You  will  be 
far  more  comfortable,  and  then  you  won't  be  having 
this  wretched  bother,"  he  suggested.  "  I  know  an 
excellent  man." 

The  man,  we  discovered  on  a  visit  to  his  stables, 
had  an  excellent  horse.  Such  at  least  we  divined 
the  latter  to  be  from  a  rather  fragmentary  review  of 
his  hind  quarters  and  his  glossy  coat,  as  he  stood 
quietly  in  his  stall  during  our  brief  inspection.  It 
was  only  when  he  appeared,  an  hour  later^  in  the 
brave  livery  of  a  bright  new  harness,  with  fine  gold 
mountings,  that  his  admirable  thorough-bred  ances- 
try, though  somewhat  remote,  declared  itself  in  the 


96  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

tapering  legs,  the  small  sensitive  ears,  the  intelli- 
gent head,  and  the  straight  horizontal  back.  He 
was  a  beauty,  in  a  word.  The  only  doubt  which  a 
survey  of  his  apparent  perfections  suggested  was 
whether  he  would  be  quite  up  to  his  work.  Could 
he  carry  the  weight  for  six  successive  weeks  of  the 
pretty  T-cart,  brilliant  in  its  fresh  green  and  yellow 
varnish ;  of  ourselves,  who  were  not  cast  in  a  lili- 
putian  mould ;  and  of  our  luggage,  consisting  of  two 
small  trunks,  two  valises,  and  several  hand-bags  ? 

"  No  fear  of  that,  sir.  He 's  up  to  twenty  miles 
a  day,  week  in  and  week  out.  And  it's  mostly 
parties  we  take,  sir,  and  he  never  minds  how  many 
it  is." 

If  the  owner  didn't  doubt  his  steed's  capacity 
and  endurance,  why  should  we  ?  So  the  bargain 
was  concluded,  with  the  reservation,  however,  that 
if,  after  reaching  Winchester,  we  were  not  entirely 
pleased,  we  were  to  return  the  trap  by  train.  This 
would  give  us  several  days'  trial  of  the  qualities  of 
our  new  companion. 

Happily  unconscious  that  he  was  under  inspec- 
tion, our  new  steed  in  the  subsequent  two  days* 
drive  made  a  most  frank  betrayal  of  his  character. 
I  am  not  sure,  on  the  whole,  however,  that  he  had 


GOODWOOD.  97 

as  much  character  as  he  had  nature.  The  pony, 
for  instance,  had  possessed  in  an  eminent  degree 
those  qualities  which  distinguish  the  former,  but 
she  was  lamentably  deficient  in  the  latter  essential. 
This  horse,  on  the  contrary,  had  more  temperament 
than  character.  He  possessed  less  mind  and  far 
more  intelligence  than  his  predecessor,  —  two  qual- 
ities only  too  rarely  seen  in  combination  in  either 
men  or  animals.  He  had  too  much  intelligence 
and  not  enough  mind,  for  instance,  to  oppose  to 
our  own.  He  responded  to  command  with  the  do- 
cility born  of  an  enlightened  acquiescence  in  the 
right.  With  such  high  qualities  he  would  have 
been  really  insufferable,  if  only  by  sheer  force  of 
contrast,  had  he  not  been  veined  with  a  certain 
feminine  timidity  ;  his  shying  made  him  human 
and  endurable.  As  this  fault  appeared  to  be  a 
latent  susceptibility  to  what  may  be  termed  the  ac- 
cidentals of  travel  rather  than  an  active  habit,  it 
could  hardly  be  looked  upon  in  the  light  of  a  seri- 
ous objection.  He  possessed  one  admirable  quali- 
fication we  discovered,  which  was  of  inestimable 
value  to  us,  with  more  than  a  month's  driving 
ahead:   he  was  one  of  the  best  walkers  we  had 

ever  seen.    His  was  a  long,  even,  slightly  quickened 

7 


98  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

step,  that  got  him  over  the  ground  in  capital  time, 
making  him  a  really  exhilarating  companion.  Al- 
together our  star  of  luck  had  been  in  the  ascen- 
dant when  he  joined  the  party.  At  Winchester  we 
promptly  proceeded  to  engage  him  by  telegraph  for 
the  remainder  of  our  journey. 

"  What  shall  we  call  him  ?  We  ought  to  have 
asked  the  hostler  his  name.  A  horse  without  a 
name  is  as  bad  as  an  unchristened  infant.  We 
can't  go  on  calling  him  plain  'horse'  for  six 
weeks." 

"  Why  not  call  him  Ballad  ?  That  was  his 
owner's  name.  It  strikes  me  as  an  eminently 
proper  one  too.  We  're  off  a-holidaying,  and  Bal- 
lad is  suggestive ;  it  is  suggestive  of  glees  and 
things,  of  the  poetry  we  shan't  write  and  the  songs 
we  can't  sing.  Besides,  he  is  a  merry  creature, 
and  deserves  a  merry  name." 

And  so  Ballad  it  was.  Inside  of  a  week  he  knew 
his  new  name  quite  as  well  as  we. 

From  Chichester  we  were  to  go  early  the  next 
morning  to  Goodwood,  the  famous  race-course 
grounds  which  lie  within  the  Duke  of  Richmond's 
estate.  Later  on,  towards  the  afternoon,  we  were 
to  start  on  our  regular  route  as  far  as  Fareham, 


GOODWOOD.  99 

a  little  village  half-way  between  Chichester  and 
Winchester.  In  all,  the  day's  journey  would  in- 
clude ahout  twenty-five  miles,  in  which  Ballad 
might  show  us  his  metal. 

Hardly  two  miles  out  of  Chichester,  and  we  were 
within  the  grounds  of  the  great  estate.  Once  with- 
in the  park  gates,  and  we  were  again  struck  with 
the  fact  of  how  the  character  of  the  land  changes 
in  England  when  it  ceases  to  be  the  property  of  the 
people  and  becomes  the  property  of  one  man.  It  is 
like  exchanging  the  plough  for  the  senate.  Every 
great  estate,  no  matter  how  vast,  has  an  adminis- 
tered look,  as  if  it  had  ceased  to  be  vulgarly  used 
for  purely  agricultural  purposes  and  had  passed 
into  the  aristocratic  stage  of  being  just  so  many  an- 
cestral acres.  Goodwood,  for  instance,  which  was 
enormous  in  extent,  far  larger  than  Arundel  Park, 
had  the  patrician  air  of  doing  nothing  in  particular, 
except  to  be  beautiful.  We  passed  several  miles 
of  turf,  of  lawn,  of  grassy,  clean-shaven  mounds, 
which  appeared  to  be  laid  out  as  so  many  grand 
spaces  wherein  the  great  and  splendid  trees  could 
grow  to  enormous  size,  and  whereon  they  could 
cast  their  resplendent  shade. 

"  What  trees  they  do  grow  in  this  country !    Look 


100  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

at  those  oaks !  Don't  tliey  look  as  if  they  were 
conscious  that  they  had  a  constitutional  government 
and  a  secured  law  of  primogeniture  to  grow  up 
under  ?  " 

"  Well."  replied  Boston,  smiling,  "  I  suppose  that 
does  have  something  to  do  with  it.  They  don't  look 
as  nervous  and  shivery  as  some  of  our  trees." 

"  And  have  n't  you  been  struck  with  the  appear- 
ance of  calculation  there  is  about  it  all  ?  It  seems 
to  me  as  if  there  were  a  kind  of  destiny  presiding 
over  the  trees  in  English  landscape.  Only  just  so 
many  seem  to  be  permitted  to  grow.  Their  quan- 
tity appears  to  be  gauged  by  the  amount  of  good 
they  will  do.  So  many  trees,  so  much  timber,  so 
much  good  drainage,  so  many  crops ;  it  all  seems 
based  on  the  multiplication  table,  a  kind  of  moral 
multiplication  table." 

"Yes,  perhaps  there  is  something  moral  even 
in  their  landscape-gardening.  An  Englishman 
would  n't  be  happy,  I  suppose,  unless  he  had  a  law 
behind  him  for  every  action,  however  trivial,"  said 
Boston,  as  he  whipped  a  fly  off  Ballad's  back,  who, 
resenting  the  familiarity,  dashed  off  with  a  spurt, 
and  brought  us  quickly  to  the  top  of  the  hill  over- 
looking the  race-course. 


GOODWOOD.  101 

The  Goodwood  track  is  noted  the  world  over  for 
the  beauty  of  its  situation.  It  is  on  an  upper  table- 
land, and  overlooks  a  lot  of  pretty  hills  which  ap- 
pear to  be  tumbling  into  one  another's  laps.  It 
might  not  be  inaptly  described,  indeed,  as  a  paradise 
of  hills  framed  about  with  sky.  The  course  itself 
is  an  elongated  ellipse,  whose  curved  lines  dip 
slightly  as  they  rise  and  fall  along  the  slope  of  the 
hill-top  on  which  the  track  is  laid  out.  The  sides 
and  crest  of  the  encircling  hills  form  a  natural 
amphitheatre  not  unlike  the  great  theatres  of  old, 
where  each  man  had  an  equal  chance  at  the  play 
on  the  stage  below  over  his  neighbor's  head.  It 
was  easy  to  picture  the  sight  of  the  breathless 
thousands  peopling  those  hillsides,  and  to  ima- 
gine the  swelling  chorus  of  their  deafening  cheers 
and  roars,  making  a  thundering  music,  as  the 
sounds  rolled  out  through  the  length  and  breadth 
of  the  great,  roofless,  unenclosed  amphitheatre. 
What  a  spectacle  to  see  and  to  have  missed 
seeing ! 

"  Can't  we  wait  for  them,  —  wait  for  the  races? 
They  are  only  two  weeks  off,"  I  asked  Boston,  as 
the  prospect  warmed  before  us. 

"And  in  two  weeks'-  time  we  ought  to  be  in 


102  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

Devon ;  yes,  we  can  forego  Devon,  and  have  Good- 
wood if  you  like." 

Is  it  the  mission  of  husbands  in  this  world  to 
carry  about  buckets  of  common-sense,  that  they 
may  always  be  in  readiness  to  extinguish  the  follies 
of  their  wives  ?  I  suppose  the  reason  why  nations 
are  always  so  well  governed  who  have  women  as 
sovereigns  is  because  these  latter  are  under  the 
subjection  of  not  only  one  man,  but  many.  It 
is  the  ministers  who  keep  their  queen,  by  sheer 
force  of  numbers,  from  committing  errors,  by  re- 
ducing her  to  the  proper  feminine  attitude  of  inca- 
pacitated energy. 

Such  a  spectacle  as  Goodwood  presents  does  cer- 
tainly suggest  a  lesson  in  the  uses  of  sovereigns 
and  ministers.  One  is  willing  to  forgive  a  country 
its  constitutional  monarchies  in  \\qw  of  such  a  re- 
sult as  this.  England,  after  all,  is  the  only  country 
which  still  provides  splendid  outdoor  festivities  for 
its  people,  which  are  both  pure  and  healthy.  There 
is  no  such  democrat  in  his  pleasure  as  the  English- 
man. On  the  turf  all  men  are  equal ;  all  that  the 
nobleman  has  is  none  too  good  for  the  peasant  on 
the  fete-day,  when  he  opens  his  gates  and  bids  the 
latter  come  in  and  take  possession.     It  is  true  the 


GOODWOOD.  103 

nobleman  doesn't  go  to  the  extreme  of  allowing 
the  peasant  to  remain  long.  But  during  the  re- 
mainder of  the  year  it  is  the  titled  landlord  who 
really  works  and  plans  and  spends  his  money  that 
he  may  keep  the  playground  in  order  till  the  people 
come  again  to  be  his  guests.  On  the  whole,  the 
English  yeoman  gets  a  great  deal  out  of  his  aristo- 
cratic class.  He  gets  a  country  lovelier  and  more 
beautiful  to  look  upon  and  to  walk  about  in  than 
any  other  on  the  round  earth ;  he  gets  great  and 
splendid  belongings  which  supply  him  with  a  per- 
petual round  of  spectacular  pageants  and  excite- 
ments ;  and  he  gets  such  public  pleasures  as  no 
other  nation  save  the  Greeks  and  the  Romans  have 
ever  managed  to  supply  to  a  people  generation 
after  generation.  And  now  I  suppose  socialism 
has  come  to  end  all  this.  It  will  issue  its  com- 
mands ;  and  England,  the  last  of  the  people's  great 
stage-managers,  must  chop  up  its  lawns  into  cab- 
bage-beds and  harness  its  hunters  to  the  plough. 

We  had  been  walking  in  the  meanwhile  along 
the  crest  of  the  race-track,  examining  the  Grand 
Stand  and  the  adjoining  stables,  when  we  stumbled 
on  an  adventure.  It  met  us  in  the  shape  of  two 
frank,  boyish  blue  eyes,  that  seemed  quite  as  much 


104  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

surprised  as  we  were  startled  at  confronting  them, 
as  we  turned  the  corner  of  one  of  the  larger  build- 
ings. The  owner  of  these  blue  eyes  was  a  slim,  but 
beautifully  erect  boy  in  white  flannel  knickerbock- 
ers, who  was  walking  about,  swinging  his  jersey  cap 
in  his  hand.  As  he  had  his  cap  in  his  hand,  he 
could  n't  lift  it ;  but  the  instinct  of  good  manners 
was  in  the  charming  little  fellow,  for  both  cap  and 
hand  went  up,  after  his  first  start  of  surprise. 

He  was  alone,  and  apparently  was  indulging,  like 
ourselves,  in  a  survey  of  the  surrounding  buildings. 

"This  is  the  way  out,  is  it  not?"  asked  Boston, 
more  for  the  purpose  of  having  a  word  with  the  boy 
than  really  because  he  was  in  need  of  the  answer ; 
for  there  was  something  immensely  taking  about 
the  little  fellow.  As  we  approached  him,  I  saw 
that  he  had  the  fresh,  clear  English  skin,  the 
straightforward,  honest,  and  brave  English  eyes, 
and  just  that  touch  of  correctness  in  his  bearing, 
that  nameless  moral  rectitude  which  seems  to  have 
worked  itself  out  into  square  shoulders  and  stiff 
back  and  firm  legs, —  a  bearing  which  distinguishes 
an  English-bred  boy  as  unmistakably  as  the  Jesuits' 
training  leaves  its  brand  on  the  French  stripling. 

"  This  goes  into  the  royal  enclosure,  sir,"  he  re- 


GOODWOOD.  105 

plied  without  a  moment's  hesitation ;  then  he  added 
after  a  moment,  as  we  both  smiled  down  on  him : 
"  There  is  the  Royal  Stand,  sir,  where  his  Royal 
Highness  always  is.  Would  n't  you  like  to  see  it  ? 
1  can  take  you  in."  And  he  fumbled  a  moment  in 
his  deep  pockets,  out  of  which  came  a  knife,  a  small 
apple,  a  bunch  of  raisins,  a  quarry  of  marbles,  and 
one  large  key.  He  blushed  now  for  the  first  time ; 
it  must  have  been  at  the  raisins,  which,  presumably, 
he  was  surprised,  and  a  little  annoyed,  to  find  still 
uneaten.  They  were  quickly  slipped  into  the  other 
pocket.  Then  he  opened  the  door  of  the  stand, 
and  ran  up  the  steps  to  the  corner  of  the  huge 
building.  He  appeared  to  be  entirely  at  home  in 
the  great  empty  building.  He  led  us  to  the  south- 
ern corner,  which  was  partitioned  off  from  the  rest 
of  the  house  and  was  enclosed  in  glass.  It  was 
like  a  great  proscenium-box  overlooking  the  stage 
setting.  The  prospect  was  glorious ;  all  the  lovely 
hills  lying  in  full  view,  with  wide  horizons  beyond. 
At  tills  elevation  the  whole  track  lay  beneath  us 
in  all  its  length  and  breadth.  There  was  ^Iso  the 
entire  sweep  of  the  grounds  to  be  taken  in  at  a 
glance.  At  one  side,  the  side  nearest  the  gate  en- 
trance, was  a  lovely  bit  of  shade,  —  a  velvet  carpet 


106  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

of  the  greenest  turf^  with  noble  trees  at  near 
distances. 

"That's  the  Lady's  Lawn,  ma'am,  where  the 
luncheons  are  spread,"  said  our  charming  little 
companion,  as  he  saw  we  were  looking  down  into 
the  coolness  and  the  green.  "  The  ladies  sit  down 
there  or  walk  about.  Sometimes  her  Royal  High- 
ness goes  down.  Then  oyer  there,  over  yonder,  is 
where  the  coaches  and  drags  stand,  and  over  still 
farther  is  the  place  for  the  carriages  and  for  the 
carts.    Have  you  ever  seen  the  horses  run,  sir  ?  " 

"  No,  my  lad,  I  never  have,  here ;  but  you  have,  I 
presume  ?  "  It  was  delightful  to  see  the  boy's  eyes 
flame  out,  and  his  red  cheeks  grow  redder  yet,  as 
he  answered  quickly, — 

"  Oh  dear,  yes,  sir,  over  and  over  again.  Last 
year  I  lost,  but  this  year  I  shall  win.  I  've  bet  on 
the  favorite,"  —  with  tremendous  earnestness. 

He  continued  to  do  the  honors  of  the  place  as 
if  he  felt  the  pressure  of  the  true  host's  instinct  of 
hospitality. 

"  Did  you  notice  the  road  on  the  left  as  you 
came  up,  the  road  that  goes  through  the  woods  ? 
That 's  the  road  the  Royal  Party  take  to  come  here 
on  race-day.     The  other  roads  are  free;  but  that 


GOODWOOD.  107 

one  is  reserved  for  the  Duke  and  the  Royal  party. 
And  did  you  see  the  wood,  sir,  the  birdless  wood  ? 
It  was  on  the  right  near  the  top  of  the  long  hill. 
No  birds  are  ever  found  there,  and  they  die  if  they 
build  their  nests  there.  Did  you  notice  how  still 
it  was  ?  It 's  nearly  a  mile  long.  I  don't  like 
it,  it's  too  still;  it's  like  Sunday.  I  always  ran 
past  as  fast  as  I  can,  and  the  deer  always  run 
through  it  too.  Did  you  see  the  deer  ?  There ! 
there  go  some  now,  over  there,  —  and  there's  my 
mamma.  I  must  go  now,  please,  sir.  Good-day, 
ma'am." 

He  shook  hands  with  us  both,  taking  plenty  of 
time  for  his  pretty,  boyish  civilities,  and  then  he 
was  off  like  a  shot.  He  joined  a  lady  who  was 
standing  on  the  lawn,  and  who  appeared  to  be 
searching  for  some  one. 

We  passed  them  both  a  few  moments  later,  as 
we  drove  down  the  road  on  our  way  out.  The  lady 
was  holding  the  boy  by  the  hand,  and  he  was  talk- 
ing away  as  hard  as  he  could,  looking  up  at  her 
with  swift  glances,  and  dancing  along  as  boys 
do  when  they  are  talking  about  what  interests 
them.  The  two  made  a  pretty  picture,  walking 
along  the  smooth  white  road  under  the  great  dark 


108  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

trees,  the  lady's  muslin  gown  fluttering  in  her 
grasp  as  she  held  above  her  head  a  white  muslin 
sunshade.  Slie  was  bareheaded,  and  the  sunlight 
caught  every  once  in  a  while  in  among  the  blond 
"  braids  and  beat  a  tress  into  gold.  She  had  a  noble 
carriage,  and  walked,  as  all  Englishwomen  of  the 
upper  class  do,  with  the  dignity  and  flexibility  of 
women  who,  even  when  they  sit  or  stand,  seem 
to  be  still  in  the  saddle.  The  lady's  bearing  has 
something  soldierly  in  it,  with  an  added  grace  and 
elegance,  however,  that  no  soldier  can  ever  hope  to 
possess. 

As  we  drove  past,  they  both  looked  up.  The  boy 
smiled,  and  his  Jersey  cap  was  waved  at  us  as  if 
we  had  been  old  friends.  The  lady  smiled  too,  and 
bowed  very  prettily,  the  pink  in  her  clear  cheek 
flushing  a  shade  deeper. 

"  For  a  countess  she  has  uncommonly  good  man- 
ners, and  so  has  her  son.  On  the  whole,  I  approve 
of  the  aristocracy." 

"  How  do  you  know  she  is  a  countess  ?  She 
may  be  a  housekeeper  or  — " 

"  Are  n't  you  ashamed  ?  When  she  was  so  pretty, 
too !  Well,  she  was  a  lady,  whoever  or  whatever 
she  was,  and  I'm  glad  she  came  out  this  lovely 


GOODWOOD.  109 

morning  to  add  one  more  picture  to  it  all.  How 
her  grace  and  refinement  fitted  into  this  delicate 
background ! " 

"  Yes,  I  '11  admit  that  an  Englishwoman  crossing 
an  English  lawn  is  about  as  complete  an  ensemble 
as  one  can  hope  to  find  anywhere  on  this  round 
earth ;   and  she  was  pretty,"  admitted  Boston. 

The  memory  of  her  refinement  and  beauty  w^ent 
with  us  into  the  dust  and  heat  of  the  .highway  on 
our  road  towards  Chichester.  It  comes  up  to  me 
now,  as  I  write  of  her,  with  vivid  keenness  and 
revived  pleasure.  I  hope  she  still  sometimes  walks 
about  bareheaded,  on  summer  mornings,  with  a 
muslin  sunshade  over  her  head  and  that  smile 
on  her  sweet  face. 


110  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

FAREHAM.  — WALTHAM.  — THE  VALLEY  OF  THE 
ITCHEN. 

/^~\UR  drive  to  Fareham  was,  after  all,  postponed 
^^^  until  the  next  afternoon.  There  was  just 
enough  drizzle  and  mist,  which  came  from  no  one 
knew  where,  to  make  the  prospect  unpromising. 
It  was  no  part  of  our  plan  to  wait  for  an  English 
sky  to  make  up  its  mind  to  stop  raining ;  but  we 
thought  we  might  arrange  it  with  the  barometer, 
if  it  were  in  even  a  moderately  accommodating 
mood,  not  to  force  us  to  start  out  on  our  day's 
drive  in  the  rain. 

The  following  afternoon,  to  repay  us,  the  sun 
came  out  in  really  radiant  glory,  for  an  English 
sun.  Sometimes  it  seems  as  if  England  were  a 
little  misty  universe  all  to  itself;  as  if  the  skies 
were  so  full  of  teary  stars,  and  the  weeping  moon 
and  the  sun  were  so  consumed  by  some  hidden 
grief,  that  they  had  neither  the  strength  nor  the 
courage  to  shine  as  they  do  elsewhere.     On  this 


FARE  HAM.  Ill 

particular  Wednesday  the  sun  had  concluded,  ap- 
parently, to   forget  its   particular   sorrow  and   to 
shine  as  if  it  were  off  a-holidaying,  like  ourselves. 
Its  brightness  and    radiance   made   our    roadway 
brilliant  in  beauty.     The  golden  light  was  every- 
where :  it  was  in  the  air,  woven  like  a  tissue  in 
among  the  trees ;  it  sparkled  in  diamond  showers  on 
the  roof-tops,  and  turned,  with  its  Midas  touch,  even 
the  wayside  stalks  into  "  weeds  of  glorious  feature." 
We  were  still  in  the  flat  country  of  the  plains  ;  a 
few  miles  away  from  Chichester,  however,  glimpses 
of  the  sea  became  more  and  more  frequent.    A  con- 
tinuous chain  of  villages,  hamlets,  and  farm-houses 
skirted  this  coast  of  the  sea,  and  followed  us  as 
we  turned  inland.     It  was  the  most  thickly  popu- 
lated  region  we   had  as   yet  seen.     Most   of  the 
villages  we  passed  were  separated  by  a  few  farm- 
lands only  ;  as  we  clattered  out  of  the  cobble-paved 
streets  of  one,  we  could  see  the  roofs  of  the  next, 
just  beyond,  thickening  behind   the   trees.     This 
procession  of  villages  gave  us  a  vivid  sense  of  the 
fact  that  so  small  an  island  as  England  should  yet 
have  a  population  of  fifteen  millions  ;  the  fifteen 
millions   live   under   their  English   sky  as   others 
live  under  the  roof  of  a  house,  in  adjoining  rooms. 


112  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

The  houses,  even  here  in  the  open  country,  appeared 
almost  to  touch  one  another. 

The  villagers  bore  a  striking  resemblance  to 
one  another.  Their  only  distinctive  difference  ap- 
peared to  be  a  discriminating  taste  in  dirt.  All 
were  dirty,  —  houses,  streets,  children,  and  shops. 
Some  were  superlatively  and  others  only  compara- 
tively filthy.  The  absence  of  gentlemen's  seats 
in  this  neighborhood  doubtless  accounted  for  the 
slovenly  appearance  of  these  otherwise  somewhat 
pretty  hamlets  and  villages. 

Wealth  refines  as  much  as  it  tends  to  mitigate 
the  miseries  of  the  lower  classes.  The  human 
animal  is  an  imitative  creature.  A  tradesman 
learns  to  bow  when  he  has  a  gentleman  to  deal 
with;  but  he  is  as  unmannerly  as  the  rest  of 
the  village  if  he  has  only  villagers  as  customers. 
All  the  little  shops  looked  mean,  and  all  the  shop- 
keepers frowsy  and  slatternly,  as  we  passed  them 
swiftly,  as  if  the  latter  had  no  ambition  in  life 
which  made  neatly  brushed  hair  and  a  clean  shirt 
seem  worth  while. 

There  was  a  blot  on  the  landscape  that  was 
neither  these  dirty  villages  nor  the  frowsy  villagers; 
the  blot  was  the  number  of  tramps  we  kept  meeting. 


FAREHAM.  113 

Every  half-mile  or  so,  there  were  two  or  three  of 
these  poor  and  wretched-looking  wayfarers.  They 
toiled,  in  pairs  or  in  groups  of  four  and  five,  along 
the  dusty  highway,  dragging  their  rags  after 
them  in  an  aimless,  hopeless,  despairing  kind 
of  way.  Who  does  not  know  the  tramp's  gait, 
and  his  uncertain,  shiftless,  going-nowhere-in-par- 
ticular air  ?  The  manner  in  which  he  wearily  lifts 
one  foot  as  the  other  falls,  tells  his  story.  He 
is  society's  outcast,  and  wears  the  fetters  of  his 
own  degradation.  The  English  tramp  adds  vicious- 
ness  to  his  despair.  Most  of  these  men  whom 
we  met  had  a  dangerous,  sullen  growl  on  their 
sodden  and  bloated  features.  Their  capacity  for 
villany  had  a  ripened  expression,  we  noticed,  which 
had  stamped  itself,  like  a  brand  of  infamy,  on  their 
hardened  faces.  Their  being  all  more  or  less 
drunk  doubtless  emphasized  this  vicious  aspect. 
Some  few  had  the  look  of  predestined  sots,  and 
others  appeared  to  have  added  drunkenness  to 
the  list  of  their  vices,  as  they  had  the  other 
accomplishments  necessary  to  the  equipment  of 
their  career  of  crime. 

Among    the   sots  the  women  far   outnumbered 

the   men.      We  passed    several   groups   of    these 

8 


114  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

poor,  shameless  creatures,  seated  or  lying  on  the 
roadside  grass.  One  among  them  usually  held  a 
dark,  evil-looking  bottle,  which  was  passed  to  the 
others  and  from  which  all  drank  without  even  the 
thought  of  shame.  Their  all  toa  frequent  stop- 
ping at  the  tap-houses  along  the  roads  apparently 
had  not  been  enough  to  satisfy  their  demoniac 
thirst ;  they  could  not  wait  for  that  slower  pro- 
cess of  intoxication.  There  was  no-  appearance  of 
gayety  or  merriment  in  the  demeanor  of  these 
poor  creatures  ;  they  seemed  to  be  possessed  solely 
by  the  hideous  determination  of  their  vice.  It  is 
only  the  Englishman,  I  think,  who  proceeds  to 
get  as  drunk  as  possible  without  mixing  a  little 
enjoyment  with  the  act. 

This  was  the  blot  on  the  landscape,  —  these  poor 
drunken  wretches  and  the  many  taverns  and  tap- 
houses we  met  at  every  turning.  Every  ten  min- 
utes or  so,  we  would  see  the  familiar  sign,  "  John 
this,  or  Fanny  that,  licensed  dealer  in  beer  and 
spirits."  The  women  behind  the  bar,  as  well  as 
those  the  other  side  of  it,  appeared  to  do  the  most 
flourishing  trade  in  these  licensed  demons.  In 
more  than  half  of  these  wayside  taverns  and  beer- 
shops  the  bar-tenders  were  women,  most  of  them 


FAREHAM.  115 

rosy,  healthy,  and  fresh-looking,  as  conspicuously 
free  from  the  taint  of  the  vice  they  dealt  in  as 
their  frailer  customers  were  branded  by  its  unmis- 
takable signs.  It  was  the  only  refreshing  human 
spectacle  we  saw  during  the  first  miles  of  our  day's 
journey,  —  the  sight  of  these  hearty,  strong,  active 
barmaids,  who  during  the  intervals  of  trade  could 
be  seen  easily  enough  through  the  wide-open  doors 
and  windows,  going  about  numberless  domestic 
duties.  It  is  a  characteristic  of  women  shopkeep- 
ers, the  world  over,  that  they  always  appear  to  be 
doing  several  things  at  once.  These  barmaids  were 
shopkeepers,  but  they  were  also  mothers,  house- 
keepers, gossips,  and  disciplinarians.  Knitting  and 
whipping  their  children  were  evidently  the  occupa- 
tions only  of  the  idle  moments,  when  customers 
were  loafing  over  the  counter  until  the  moment 
came  to  order  a  fresh  glass.  The  more  serious 
duties  of  sweeping,  dusting,  running  sewing-ma- 
chines, dressing  and  undressing  their  numerous 
offspring,  were  faithfully  and  efficiently  performed 
in  the  slack  periods  of  business  hours. 

It  was  good  to  leave  it  all  behind  us,  —  all 
the  wretchedness  of  the  vice,  and  even  tlie  thrift 
and  energy  which  made  money  out  of  England's 


116  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

curse.  It  was  good  to  get  at  last  into  the  broad 
open  country,  and  to  have  the  last  miles  of  our 
journey  lead  us  up  a  gentle  hill  or  two,  into  ripen- 
ing grain-fields  and  among  the  wide  meadows. 

A  long  line  of  chalk  cliffs  defined  themselves 
above  the  meadows.  Disposed  at  regular  intervals 
along  its  length  were  several  large  forts.  These 
we  knew  must  be  the  famous  Portsdown  fortifica- 
tions, and  that  Portsmouth  itself  must  be  near. 
A  few  moments  later,  a  dark  mass  against  the 
southern  sky  resolved  itself  into  tall  black  chimney- 
pots, a  forest  of  masts,  and  an  indistinguishable  med- 
ley of  dusky  buildings.     This  was  Portsmouth. 

The  sight  of  a  city  and  especially  of  a  seaport 
town  in  the  distance  seldom  fails  in  impr'fessive- 
ness.  Its  size  is  doubled  by  the  illusion  which 
atmospheric  effect  creates.  Portsmouth,  as  we 
passed  it  slowly,  might  have  been  London  itself, 
so  vast  and  huge  it  looked,  as  it  loomed  forth 
from  its  misty  gloom  of  smoke  and  sea-fog.  Only 
the  mast-heads  and  the  steep  chimneys,  like  the 
radius  of  a  crown,  lifted  themselves  up  into 
the  clear  light.  A  fine  noble  castle  towards  the 
farther  end  of  the  town,  we  knew  to  be  Southsea 
Castle.    From  the  tower  of  the  castle  the  British 


FAREHAM.  117 

lion  was  flying  with  a  more  than  usually  belliger- 
ent aspect,  as  if  inviting  the  world  to  mortal  com- 
bat. Here  on  his  own  ground,  with  that  mass  of 
forts  behind  him,  armed  to  the  teeth,  ready  to 
fling  the  foe  his  iron  gauntlet,  there  did  indeed 
seem  little  doubt  as  to  the  result  of  any  foreign 
attack.  Coming  thus  suddenly  out  from  the  syl- 
van calm  and  repose  of  those  meadow-fields  which 
we  had  left  behind,  into  this  bit  of  country  brist- 
ling with  fortifications,  gave  us  a  very  realizing 
sense  of  the  causes  that  have  insured  England's 
meadows  having  been  free  for  so  many  centuries 
from  the  heel  of  the  foreign  invader :  she  has 
been  careful  to  preserve  her  reputation  of  being 
armed  cap-a-pie ;  and  she  has  had  a  very  ugly 
way  of  showing  her  teeth  through  her  visor  at 
the  slightest  provocation  on  foreign  soil. 

The  remainder  of  the  road  to  Fareham  was 
rurally  pretty,  with  hedge-rows  untrimmed  and 
a  trifle  straggling,  —  farmers' hedge-rows,  we  con- 
cluded, because  only  pasture-lands  and  farms  were 
to  be  seen  amid  the  gentle  slopes  that  gradually 
gained  crescendo  enough  to  become  hills. 

It  was  at  the  top  of  one  of  the  longest  of  the 
hills  that  the   opening  in   a  large-arched  bridge 


118  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

presented  to  our  delighted  eyes,  as  if  Nature  had 
been  in  a  generous  mood  and  had  come  out  to 
give  us  a  picture,  our  first  glimpse  of  Fareham. 
A  green  lawn-swept  street,  with  charming  little 
houses  masked  in  vines ;  a  small  inland  lake  or 
pond,  with  drooping  willows  leaning  sentimentally 
over  its  banks  ;  a  wagonette  full  of  children  w^ith 
a  fair-haired  mother  driving  under  the  trees  to 
one  of  the  larger  houses  facing  the  pond ;  and  a 
huge  hay-cart  filled  with  village  youngsters  pelting 
one  another  with  poppies,  —  such  was  our  first, 
introduction  to  Fareham. 

When  we  drove  up  to  the  low,  broad,  bow-win- 
dowed inn,  w^e  knew  we  had  committed  no  mistake 
in  judgment  when  we  had  decided  to  stop  at  Fare- 
ham. There  might  be  better  inns  and  prettier 
inland  villages  in  England,  but  Fareham  we  were 
entirely  willing  to  accept  as  a  specimen  and  model 
of  what  rural  England  possesses  in  the  quaint, 
the  comfortable,  and  the  picturesque. 

A  tall  handsome  woman,  still  young  and  mod- 
estly but  prettily  dressed,  stepped  out  to  greet  us 
with  a  smile,  and  in  a  pleasant,  courteous  tone 
asked  if  we  would  like  to  see  our  rooms ;  that 
was    the    landlady.      A    fine-looking    man,  with 


FAREHAM.  119 

straight  clear  eyes,  also  smiling,  came  a  moment 
later,  and  took  our  hand-bags ;  that  was  our 
landlord.  A  bell  was  rung,  and  a  grinning  hostler 
appeared,  who  took  possession  of  Ballad,  stroking 
his  wet  coat  as  if  he  looked  forward  to  rubbing 
it  down  as  a  matter  of  personal  satisfaction ;  that 
was  the  stable-man.  We  saw  him  a  few  moments 
later  from  our  bedchamber  window  doing  it,  the 
rubbing  down,  as  if  our  getting  Ballad  into  his 
heated  condition  had  been  a  special  favor  to 
him.  A  waiter  next  appeared,  also  smiling,  and 
a  be-ribboned  chambermaid,  both  of  whom,  with 
the  landlady,  preceded  us  to  our  rooms.  They  all 
stopped  smiling  only  to  begin  it  again  when  fresh 
orders  were  given.  The  rooms  were  in  perfect 
order,  yet  the  landlady  bestirred  herself  to  readjust 
a  vase  on  the  mantelpiece  ;  and  the  chambermaid 
shook  out  the  snow-white  curtains  as  if  to  display 
their  purity.  The  waiter  was  too  absorbed  in 
undoing  shawl-straps  and  dusting  the  luggage  to 
give  himself  up  to  decorative  embellishment.  The 
rooms  were  perfect  in  the  dainty  completeness 
of  their  outfit.  There  was  a  sitting-room,  with 
a  broad  bow-shaped  window  fronting  on  the  wide 
village  street,  a  table  with  writing-materials  at  just 


120  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

the  riglit  angle  in  that  pretty  crescent,  really  com- 
fortable chairs,  and  a  reading-lamp.  For  "  dumb 
companions,"  on  the  wall  were  some  quaint  old 
prints.  The  bedchamber  was  as  pure  as  a  virgin's 
bower,  —  a  high  four-post  bedstead  with  cotton 
hangings,  a  dressing-table  in  white  curtains,  and 
pale  faded  blue  walls  with  the  print  of  last-cen- 
tury designs  on  them.  About  the  whole  establish- 
ment, indeed, —  about  the  little  inn,  the  rooms,  and 
the  village  street,  as  we  looked  out  into  it,  —  there 
was  this  old-time  air,  as  if  the  comfort  and  the 
purity  and  the  courtesy  had  not  been  thought  of 
and  arranged  yesterday,  but  had  slowly  grown 
during  the  long,  quiet  generations,  and  been  pa- 
tiently and  lovingly  added  to,  until  this  modest, 
tranquil,  and  altogether  charming  perfection  had 
been  attained. 

On  the  whole,  we  concluded  that  our  waiter 
was  the  most  complete,  as  a  product,  among  this 
assemblage  of  perfections.  Perhaps  it  was  because 
we  ended  by  seeing  more  of  him  than  of  the 
others  in  the  little  inn.  He  served  all  of  our 
meals,  of  course ;  and  he  was  so  genially,  cour- 
teously garrulous  it  was  impossible  not  to  become 
more    or   less   acquainted   with   him.     There  was 


FAREHAM.  121 

an  air  of  past  acquaintance  with  gentility  about 
Brown,  as  he  told  us  to  call  him,  which  assured 
us  that  he  had  not  learned  his  manners  even  in 
this  perfect  little  inn.  He  had  ways  of  passing 
a  plate  and  of  filling  one's  glass  suggestive  of  a 
certain  distant  familiarity,  as  if  family  secrets  in 
a  remote  past  had  found  their  way  to  his  ear  and 
he  had  not  been  found  unworthy  of  the  trust. 
His  glance  was  beautifully  paternal ;  and  there 
was  a  general  benedictory  appearance  about  his 
somewhat  fat  and  flabby  person  which,  to  a  watch- 
ful eye,  carried  with  it  a  vague  conviction  of  his 
having  frequently  played  the  part  of  a  good  Provi- 
dence to  young  lovers  and  to  wayward  youth.  The 
smile  he  wore  —  the  sweet,  bland,  mildly  gleeful 
smile  —  could  only  have  been  acquired  in  a  life 
consecrated  to  secret  conspiracies  against  some- 
thing which  ought  not  to  be  found  out.  We 
attributed  something  of  his  interest  in  us  to  the 
fact  that  he  appeared  to  entertain  a  veiled  but 
vigorous  suspicion  that  we  were  on  our  wedding 
journey.  He  had  for  me  a  specially  protective 
and  tender  manner,  which  was  occasionally  illu- 
mined by  a  pregnant  smile  that  seemed  to  promise 
an  understood  compact  of  secrecy. 


122  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

Like  most  conspirators,  Crown  had  himself 
evidently  fallen  a  victim  to  his  own  talent  for 
intrigue.  The  color  and  size  of  his  most  conspic- 
uous organ,  his  nose,  betrayed  his  all  too  frequent 
stealthy  dealings  with  his  master's  port. 

His  respect  for  us  began  with  tlie  inspection  of 
the  wines  Boston  ordered.  His  friendship  for  me 
dated  from  the  moment  he  learned  that  I  took  no 
champagne  ;  regard  deepened  into  admiration  when 
he  further  was  ordered  to  water  my  glass  of 
claret  —  he  was  certain  now  that  the  bottles 
would  outlast  Boston's  thirst.  He  next  devoted 
himself  to  the  satisfying  of  another  appetite  almost 
stronger  than  the  vinous  habit.  He  was  too  com- 
plete a  provincial  not  to  be  curious. 

"  Brown,  how  far  is  it  to  Winchester  ?  " 

"  Twenty  miles,  sir,  —  a  fine  drive,  sir."  And 
then  discreetly,  a  second  later,  "  A  long  ways,  sir, 
from  the  North  too,  sir." 

"The  North?" 

"  The  North  of  England.  I  took  you  for  a 
Lincolnshire  gentleman,  begging  your  pardon." 

"  We  did  n't  come  from  the  North ;  we  came 
from  London." 

Surprise  tempered  by  a  vague  incredulity  was 


FAREHAM.  123 

to  be  read  in  Brown's  respectful  glance.  But  his 
sense  of  decorum  was  too  strong  to  embolden  him 
to  make  further  inquiries. 

"  London  is  a  fine  place,  sir.  I  've  been  there  in 
my  time." 

"  Yes,  London  is  a  fine  city  —  as  is  New  York. 
We  come  from  New  York;  we  are  Americans." 
Boston  had  taken  pity  on  him,  his  disappoint- 
ment was  so  visibly  poignant.  But  the  effect  of 
the  revelation  of  our  nationality  appeared  to  be- 
wilder Brown  to  the  point  of  rendering  him  speech- 
less. He  feebly  repeated  "  America,"  and  began 
eying  us  furtively,  as  if  he  expected  us  suddenly 
to  break  out  into  some  strange  antics  of  behavior. 
He  made  an  errand  immediately  after  into  the 
hall-way,  where  the  ribbons  of  the  chambermaid 
were  fluttering  behind  the  door. 

The  chambermaid  peeped  at  us  through  the 
cracks  of  the  door.  A  few  moments  later,  the 
landlord  made  an  excuse  for  taking  a  more  thor- 
ough and  satisfactory  inspection  of  our  appear- 
ance by  entering  after  dinner  to  ask  if  the  trap 
would  be  needed  early  the  next  morning.  We  even 
suspected  that  some  of  the  travellers  in  the  inn  had 
been  taken  into  the  landlord's  confidence ;  for  the 


124  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

family  next  door  to  us,  whom  we  had  seen  grouped 
about  a  pretty  tea-table  in  the  adjoining  bow- 
window,  manifested  great  interest  in  our  incoming 
and  out-going.  They  filled  the  broad  windows, 
craning  their  necks  over  one  another's  shoulders 
to  get  a  better  look.  Even  the  handsome  landlady 
stared  after  us  as  we  passed  out  into  the  street. 

"  Don't  let  us  do  it  again,  —  don't  let  us  say  we 
are  Americans ;  it  makes  us  so  conspicuous.  They 
are  always  expecting  us  to  do  something  queer," 
I  said,  as  we  strolled  out. 

"  That  is  the  reason  I  do  mention  it.  I  want 
them  to  see  we  don't  do  anything  queer.  I  'm 
giving  them  a  little  lesson  in  the  manners  and 
customs  of  an  unknown  country.  There  is  no 
better  way  to  prove  that  we  are  like  all  other 
civilized  people  than  by  being  like  them." 

"Well,  if  you  want  to  turn  our  pleasure-trip 
into  an  illustrated  lecture,  you  can  do  so;  I  pre- 
fer to  travel  incognito.  They  may  take  me  for 
a  chimpanzee  if  only  they  will  not  stare." 

"  That  they  can't  help  doing,  my  dear,"  was 
Boston's  gallant  rejoinder ;  but  I  observed  that  to 
keep  his  conviction  up  to  the  level  of  his  gallantry, 
he  was  obliged  to  light  another  cigar. 


FAREHAM.  125 

From  a  woman's  point  of  view,  a  twilight  walk 
is  the  best  known  substitute  for  a  man's  medita- 
tive after-dinner  cigar.  Walking  abroad  is  at  least 
an  escape  from  the  brooding  melancholy  which 
twilight  breeds  in-doors.  The  after-dinner  hour  in 
rural  England  is  perhaps  the  only  really  trying 
one  of  the  tourist's  day.  The  tempting  al-fresco  ar- 
rangements which  one  finds  in  almost  all  continen- 
tal summer  inns  or  hotels,  —  the  cosey,  charming 
gardens,  the  shrubs  in  pots,  and  the  bits  of  foli- 
age under  whose  shade  are  placed  the  little  iron 
settees  and  tea-tables  so  subtly  suggestive  of  tete- 
d-tetes  and  prolonged  starlit  confidences,  —  these 
are  unknown  in  England.  The  national  standards 
of  reserve  and  decorum  forbid  the  traveller's  en- 
joyment —  unless  taken  in  conformity  with  English 
notions  and  ideals  of  propriety.  Rigid  seclusion  is 
the  first  of  tlie  Briton's  canons  of  good  travelling- 
behavior.  An  English  inn  is  built  on  the  plan 
of  a  series  of  separate  fortifications ;  each  travel- 
ler must  be  as  unapproachable  from  inspection  or 
intrusion  as  four  walls  can  make  him. 

Even  a  balcony  with  an  awning  is  a  combination 
of  the  picturesque  and  the  comfortable  that  no  Eng- 
lish inn  has  yet  dreamed  of  adding  to  its  list  of 


126  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

luxuries.  There  are  but  two  refuges,  —  the  coffee- 
room,  which  is  English  for  our  American  dining 
and  reading  room  in  one,  or  one's  own  private 
sitting-room.  In  the  coffee-room  commercial  trav- 
ellers and  business  men  are  to  be  found  reading 
the  papers  or  writing  letters ;  but  even  their 
presence  the  waiters  seem  to  look  upon  as  intru- 
sive. All  Englishwomen  who  respect  themselves 
dine  and  sit  in  their  sitting-rooms.  This  latter 
custom  we  had  ourselves  adopted  as  by  far  the 
more  comfortable  as  well  as  the  pleasanter  way 
of  travelling  in  England.  With  the  national 
habit  of  and  delight  in  personal  privacy  come 
many  compensations ;  for  surely  no  other  mode 
of  inn  or  hotel  life,  in  spite  of  pretty  garden-beds 
and  al-fresco  tSte-d-tStes  on  hard  little  iron  chairs 
or  settees  beneath  the  shade  of  trees,  is  com- 
parable to  this  cosey,  home-like  English  fashion, 
which  insures  privacy  and  at  least  some  sem- 
blance of  home  quiet,  repose,  and  security.  I 
know  of  no  sensation  more  soothing,  no  simple 
delight  more  complete,  than  that  of  toasting  one's 
slippered  feet  over  the  fire  in  the  pretty  sitting- 
room  of  some  old  English  inn,  while  the  noiseless 
waiter  brings  the  five-o'clock  tea ;  or  later,  when 


FAREHAM.  127 

he  spreads  the  dining-cloth  the  repast  is  accom- 
panied with  the  luxurious  sense  of  the  stillness 
and  the  peace  about  one,  with  no  flare  of  gas- 
light nor  stare  of  curious-eyed  fellow-travellers. 
It  is  this  feeling  of  security  and  exclusiveness 
which  turns  an  inn  into  a  temporary  home. 

That  our  little  inn  was  looked  upon  in  the 
light  of  a  home  at  certain  hours  by  various  dwell- 
ers in  this  Fareham  village,  was  proved  to  us 
during  the  evening.  There  came,  towards  nine  of 
the  clock,  a  sound  of  footfalls  along  the  little  hall, 
the  opening  and  shutting  of  the  dull  green  baize 
door  which  screened  the  room  directly  behind  the 
small  office.  Tones  of  deep  voices  and  of  pleas- 
ant chit-chat  echoed  through  the  resounding  little 
house,  which,  with  its  well-seasoned  walls  and  tim- 
bers, was  as  resonant  as  an  old  violin.  A  sound 
of  hissing  boiling  water,  the  click  of  glasses,  and 
the  unmistakable  rattle  of  the  spirituous  artillery 
of  a  bar  became  more  and  more  frequent. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  asked  Boston,  behind 
his  newspaper,  as  I  started  towards  the  open  door. 

"  I  am  going  to  see  how  the  village  looks  by 
starlight,"  I  replied,  with  the  miserable  duplicity 
common  to  our  sex. 


128  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

"  Nonsense !  you  can  see  it  just  as  well  from  the 
bow-window." 

But  I  was  already  half-way  down  the  broad 
stairs.  An  instant  later  I  was  out  upon  the  little 
street.  Starlight  was  certainly  very  becoming 
to  the  rural  little  town.  The  trees  and  the  low 
houses  seemed  to  coquet  with  the  darkness.  But 
what  I  had  come  to  see,  of  course,  was  the  picture 
the  other  side  of  that  green  baize  door.  Had  I 
been  a  man,  with  a  man's  propensity  for  being 
the  other  side  of  green  baize  doors,  I  should  long 
ere  this  have  gone  there  honestly  and  straight- 
forwardly. Being  a  woman,  with  a  hopelessly 
incurable  and  unconventional  taste  for  looking  at 
that  part  of  life  which  is  hidden  away  from  us, 
I  must  needs  intrigue  to  gain  what  was,  after 
all,  a  very  innocent  pleasure.  At  last,  a  somewhat 
late  but  most  obliging  tapster  turned  in  at  our 
door.  He  made  straightway  for  the  green  baize 
door.  He  opened  it  wide,  and  I,  close  upon  his 
heels,  saw  the  picture  I  had  come  to  see.  There 
was  a  long  bright-red  covered  table,  with  two  or 
three  shaded  lamps  upon  it.  At  the  head  of  the 
table  sat  tlie  handsome  landlady,  looking  hand- 
somer than   ever  now ;  for   she   was   an  evening 


FAREHAM.  129 

beauty,  with  tawny  tints  in  her  eyes  and  hair  that 
needed  a  wealth  of  light  to  bring  out  all  their 
hidden  depths  of  color.  Her  husband  was  mov- 
ing about,  filling  glasses  and  passing  pipes  around. 
There  were  fifteen  or  twenty  men  seated  in  large 
comfortable  chairs.  There  was  no  noisy  talk  or 
loud  laughter.  It  was,  I  should  say,  a  rather 
exceptionably  well-bred  gathering  for  any  part  of 
the  world,  —  a  gathering  of  men  in  whose  society 
no  woman  need  be  ashamed  to  sit.  Perhaps  the 
woman's  being  there  was  the  cause  of  the  good 
manners,  of  the  quiet,  and  the  orderly  self-restraint. 
Whatever  the  cause,  it  all  made  a  very  comfortable, 
cosey,  home-like  English  scene. 

Our  twilight  walk  through  the  Fareham  streets 
had  proved  it  to  be  a  dull  little  town,  with  only 
a  few  fine  old  houses  along  its  principal  thorough- 
fare ;  so  the  next  morning  we  were  off  early  on 
our  way  to  Winchester. 

The  road  from  the  start  was  enchanting.  It 
lay  between  fields  and  meadows  brilliant  in  har- 
vest-ripening grain,  and  there  were  farms  dotted 
among  them  at  just  the  right  distances  to  make 
dark,  rich  bits  of  color  in  the  landscape.  The 
whole  country  breathed  the  peace  of  agricultural 


130  CATHEDRAL  DAYS, 

activity,  with  enough  variety  in  outline  to  preserve 
it  from  monotony.  A  charming  bit  of  country 
three  miles  from  Fareham  we  knew  to  be  Waltham 
Chase,  famous  among  mediaeval  sportsmen  for  its 
deer.  Henry  II.  and  Coeur  de  Lion  had  come,  a 
few  centuries  ago,  to  pursue  this  sport  and  to 
partake  of  the  gay  and  splendid  hospitality  of  the 
bishop's  palace,  the  ruins  of  which  we  came  upon 
a  few  miles  farther  on. 

A  few  straggling  houses  and  a  church  made  a 
bit  of  a  village.  Then,  at  a  sharp  turn  in  the 
road,  we  drove  past  the  magnificent  ruins  of  the 
old  palace,  close  beside  the  roadway,  with  a  little 
lake  on  our  right.  The  blue  sky  was  framed  in 
a  dozen  great  arches,  and  the  grasses  and  ivy 
had  taken  permanent  possession  of  the  grand 
halls  and  the  roofless  chambers.  In  its  days  of 
glory  the  palace  must  have  been  a  kingly  dwelling. 
The  size  and  extent  of  the  ruined  arches,  and  the 
extensive  walls  were  still  suggestive  of  noble 
proportions,  while  the  carvings  over  the  windows 
and  doorways  were  of  lovely  delicacy  of  work- 
manship. One  could  well  believe  that  this  palace 
must  have  been  one  of  the  finest  examples  in 
England  of  fifteenth-century  domestic  architecture. 


WALTHAM.  131 

Bishop  Henri  de  Blois,  who  in  the  intervals  of 
king-making  turned  to  the  fine  art  of  building  as 
his  favorite  pastime,  certainly  achieved  one  of  his 
finest  masterpieces  in  Waltham  Castle.  Mediaeval 
architect-bishops  were  artists  as  well  as  inspired 
builders ;  for  none  but  an  artist  would  have  built 
a  great  palace  beside  this  lovely  little  lake,  the 
former  abbot's  pond,  once  noted  for  its  stores  of 
fish,  now  the  haunt  of  swallows  and  meadow-larks, 
who  fluttered  amid  the  tall  grasses,  singing  their 
little  hearts  out  as  if  conscious  that  they  were 
the  only  live  beings  amid  all  this  debris  of  dead 
greatness.  To  have  looked  out  into  this  silent 
lake  from  yonder  palace  casements  must  have  been 
like  suddenly  confronting  Nature's  quiet  eye  in  the 
midst  of  the  stormy  conflict  of  the  human  passions 
shut  up  within  those  stately  walls.  What  ideal 
surroundings  for  the  Court  and  the  great  pre- 
lates to  take  their  pleasure  in !  —  the  country  over- 
running with  summer  and  fragrance,  as  rurally 
rustic  as  the  palace  was  magnificently  splendid  ; 
Waltham  Chase  as  their  happy  hunting-ground; 
and  Winchester  within  easy  distance,  if  there  were 
pageants  or  councils  or  tournaments  in  the  day's 
round  of  pleasure  or  duty. 


132  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

1  presume  it  is  as  well,  from  the  progressionist's 
point  of  view,  to  have  been  born  as  late  as 
possible  ;  but  there  are  weak  moments  when  His- 
tory runs  her  fingers  lightly  over  those  forgot- 
ten notes  of  gay  and  debonair  pleasures,  when 
one  would  willingly  forego  many  of  the  advan- 
tages which  we  of  these  later  centuries  so  serenely 
enjoy,  to  have  lived  in  those  fine  old  days,  when 
the  gayer  delights  of  life  were  pursued  as  ardently 
as  leisure  and  culture  or  money-making  are  now-a- 
days  striven  for,  when  life  was  not  all  a  tragedy, 
and  comedy  tripped  its  light  measure  across  the 
field  of  existence,  flecking  it  with  brilliant,  riant 
dashes  of  color  and  joy. 

These  reflections  were  doubtless  suggested  by 
the  fact  that  our  afternoon's  drive  bristled  with 
historical  associations.  After  leaving  the  palace, 
with  its  dead-and-gone  company  of  pleasure-loving 
bishops,  we  passed  close  by  Avington  House,  once 
the  residence  of  Charles  II.,  and  still  more  famous 
as  the  property  of  that  luckless  member  of  the 
Brydges  family  who,  marrying  the  Countess  of 
Shrewsbury,  came  to  that  sad  end  of  unloved  hus- 
bands by  the  sword  of  his  faithless  wife's  lover, 
the  Duke   of  Buckingham.    The  picture   of  that 


THE   VALLEY  OF  THE  ITCHEN.  133 

intrepid  and  audacious  lady,  apparelled  as  a  page, 
calmly  holding  her  lover's  horse  while  the  duel 
went  on,  that  comes  down  to  us  in  our  garru- 
lous friend  Pepys's  diary,  fitted  in  as  a  compan- 
ion portrait  to  those  of  the  gay  bishops  who 
were  so  sure  of  heaven  that  they  could  afford 
to  indulge  in  endless  bouts  of  pleasure  while  on 
earth. 

Ballad,  not  having  the  wickedness  of  others  to 
enliven  his  journey,  gave  signs  of  drooping  just 
as  we  drove  into  the  lovely  valley  of  the  Itchen, 
along  the  banks  of  the  famous  little  river  that 
makes  this  stretch  of  meadow-land  one  of  Eng- 
land's most  picturesque  bits.  Its  beauty  was  even 
greater  than  its  fame;  it  was  a  divine  little  val- 
ley. The  road  wound  in  and  out  under  avenues 
of  noble  elms  and  oaks,  between  gentle  slopes 
covered  with  golden  grain ;  there  were  sleek  cat- 
tle standing  up  to  their  middle  in  the  flower- 
banked  river ;  there  were  odors  in  the  air  so 
luscious  that  the  whole  valley  seemed  a  garden 
of  perfume ;  the  grass  was  thicker,  the  trees  were 
taller,  the  meadows  were  fairer,  than  we  had  yet 
seen  elsewhere;  and  the  whole  valley,  its  sweet- 
ness and  plenty  and  peace,  was  delicately  lighted 


134  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

by  a  rosy  glow  which  made  earth  and  sky  seem 
quivering  in  a  luminous  pink  bath. 

At  a  turn  in  the  road  we  saw  a  city's  roofs 
and  spires  glistening  on  the  sides  and  summit 
of  a  hill  directly  in  front  of  us.  This  city  was 
Winchester. 


WINCHESTER.  135 


CHAPTER  YII. 

WINCHESTER. 

"  T  AM  glad  Ballad  is  tired  and  hot ;  we  can  go 
as  slow  as  we  like,"  I  said,  as  we  began 
to  mount  the  hill. 

"  You  mean  as  slow  as  he  likes.  He  is,  as  you 
have  justly  observed,  an  admirable  walker.  As 
a  walker  I  think  he  would  bear  off  the  prize  in 
any  slow  go-as-you-please  gait ;  and  like  most  of 
us,  what  he  does  best  he  does  oftenest." 

"  Now,  I  call  that  ungrateful.  He 's  done  par- 
ticularly well  to-day.  Just  think  how  quick  we  've 
come  !    And  all  those  hills !  " 

"  Which  we  've  walked  up,  all  three  of  us." 

"  And  who  liked  the  walking,  pray,  and  would 
get  out  again  and  again  to  see  views  and  things  ?  " 

"  Well,  never  mind  Ballad ;  he 's  done  well 
enough.  But  this  is  pretty  jolly,  is  n't  it  ?  Ballad 
may  walk,  the  slower  the  better." 

I  should  hardly  have  selected  the  word  jolly  to 
describe   the   scene   about  us  ;    but   men  have   a 


136  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

constitutional  distaste  for  forcible  or  pictorial 
phraseology.  I  suppose  the  superlatives  came  in 
when  women  began  to  talk. 

The  prospect  was,  in  truth,  enchanting.  We 
were  slowly  making  the  ascent  of  a  hillside  which, 
at  first  an  elm- shaded  country-road,  became  grad- 
ually a  city  street.  Above,  glistening  in  the  pink 
sunset,  were  a  mass  of  red  roofs  and  a  tall  tower 
on  the  summit,  the  latter  rising  into  the  sky  like 
a  tinted  plume  on  some  warrior's  head-gear;  for 
the  city,  in  spite  of  its  rosy  light,  looked  gray  and 
armor-encased.  There  were  bits  of  old  walls  and 
ancient  towers  and  turrets,  with  lancet  loop-holes, 
to  remind  one  of  mediaeval  contests.  The  jagged 
teeth  on  the  crenellated  towers  were  set  against 
the  pink  sky,  like  lion's  claws  on  velvet. 

Of  the  general  topography  of  the  city  we  could 
only  be  certain  of  a  few  conspicuous  features : 
first,  that  it  was  built  along  the  banks  of  the 
Itchen,  watering  its  feet  pleasantly  in  the  pretty 
stream ;  then,  that  it  took  an  upward  bend  along 
the  steep  sides  of  a  long  hillside ;  and  finally,  that 
it  cooled  its  brow  on  the  summit,  after  its  tortuous 
climb.  Opposite,  on  the  other  side  of  the  river, 
was  the  famous  St.  Catherine   Hill,  a  long  line 


WINCHESTER.  137 

of  chalky  ridges.  Our  own  way  led  us  more  and 
more  into  a  series  of  thickly  settled,  picturesque, 
but  citified-looking  streets.  The  bustle  and  traffic 
of  a  busy  town-life  were  besetting  our  ears  as  we 
drove  under   the   arched  doorway  of  our  inn. 

Three  waiters  in  white  ties  helped  us  to  descend. 
A  vision  of  a  French  cook  coifed  in  his  white  cor- 
nered hat,  seen  through  the  vines  that  screened 
the  kitchen  from  the  courtyard,  assured  us  that 
the  cuisine  felt  it  had  a  reputation  to  sustain. 

"  Winchester  has,  I  believe,  always  had  the  rep- 
utation of  living  well,"  remarked  Boston,  compla- 
cently, after  we  had  ordered  a  dinner  designed  as 
a  delicate  compliment  to  the  only  nation  that  under- 
stands making  good  soups. 

"  Yes ;  a  city  of  bishops  may  be  trusted  to  do 
that  much.  I  suppose  they  imported  their  French 
cooks  along  with  the  taste  for  Norman  arches.  But 
do  look  at  those  chairs  and  at  all  the  furniture  ! 
Has  n't  it  a  preposterously  ecclesiastical  air  ? " 

Boston  laughed,  and  said  he  should  be  mistaking 
the  buffet  for  an  altar-piece  and  the  bed  for  a 
chantry,  he  was  certain,  now  that  I  had  suggested 
the  resemblance. 


138  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

There  was,  in  truth,  an  absurdly  impressive  ap- 
pearance about  the  furniture  of  our  two  stately 
rooms.  All  the  furniture  had  a  high-church,  epis- 
copalian aspect.  There  appeared  to  have  been 
a  pronounced  taste  for  Gothic  chairs  and  severe 
perpendicular  outlines  in  the  tables  and  sofas  se- 
lected. No  prints  more  profane  than  an  assem- 
blage of  celebrated  church  councils  or  cathedral 
interiors  adorned  the  walls.  It  was  just  the  sort 
of  room  in  which  a  bishop  might  rehearse,  with 
suitable  gravity,  scenes  to  be  enacted  later  in  the 
chapter-house ;  he  need  not  look  in  the  mirror  to 
see  a  reflection  of  his  own  dignity. 

The  soup  and  the  entries  were  up  to  the  approved 
ecclesiastical  standard ;  they  were  also  worthy  of 
the  nationality  of  their  maker.  Only  an  English- 
man, however,  can  be  trusted  to  cook  Southdown 
mutton,  we  regretfully  confided  to  each  other  as 
we  looked  upon  the  joint  done  to  a  crisp. 

Better  than  the  French  soup  was  the  view  from 
our  windows.  We  were  in  luck  again.  The  win- 
dows of  our  sitting-room  opened  upon  the  city's 
chief  thoroughfare. 

It  was  a  beautiful  and  perfect  little  jewel  of  an 
old  street.    It  was  delightfully  irregular,  wandering 


WINCHESTER.  139 

up  the  hill  with  the  undulatory,  uneven  progress 
we  had  noticed  as  a  characteristic  of  the  Arundel 
High  Street.     It  began  its  existence,  as  we  found 
on  a  later  inspection,  at  a  bridge  which  covered 
the  little  river  near  an  old  mill.    At  the  top  of 
the  hill  it  was  crowned  by  a  noble  gateway  and  a 
fine  mass  of  famous  old  buildings.     The  bustling, 
gay  street   had   retained  its  mediaeval  aspect  in  a 
wonderful  degree.     It  had  the  bulging  fagades,  the 
projecting  casements,  and  the  gabled  roofs  which 
the  earlier  builders  knew  so  well  how  to  combuie. 
They  had  divined  the  secret  that  the  beauty  of  a 
street,  like  the  charm  of  the  human  face,  depends 
more  on  expression  than  on  any  mere  perfection 
in  symmetry.     The  street  is  lined    with  palaces, 
shops,  hospitals,  gateways,  a  sixteenth-century  pi- 
azza, beneath  whose  open  arcades  nineteenth-cen- 
tury  citizens   still   lounge   and    gossip,   a   market 
cross,  and  the  old-fashioned  open  butchers'  stalls, 
whose   warm   meats  communicate   a   pleasant   cu- 
Huary  odor  to  the  atmosphere.     The  western  gate- 
way  at   its  summit   seems   to   cut  off  "Winchester 
from  the  rest  of    the  world,  as  it  did  in   reality 
of  old  when  it  had  its  own  private  little  sins  to 
commit.     The  Itchen,  at  its  feet,  is  still  the  slen- 


140  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

der  umbilical  cord  connecting  the  city  with  the 
rest  of  the  kingdom,  on  whose  destiny  Winchester 
has  had  so  powerful  an  influence. 

To  write  the  history  of  this  street  would  be  to 
write  the  history  of  most  of  England's  stirring 
events. 

It  can  be,  indeed,  with  no  ordinary  tourist's  set 
of  commonplace  emotions  that  one  wanders  about 
Winchester.  The  city  is  as  full  of  historical 
suggestiveness  as  any  in  England.  It  has  made 
enough  history  to  suffice  for  a  very  respectable 
national  career.  It  is  an  epitome  of  all  the  Eng- 
lish virtues,  and  has  possessed  its  share  of  English 
capacity  for  crime.  It  has  been  murderous,  treach- 
erous, imperious,  dictatorial,  tyrannical ;  it  has 
founded  some  of  the  finest  charities,  has  built  some 
of  the  noblest  buildings,  and  perpetuated  some  of 
the  most  admirable  educational  systems  in  the 
world.  While  its  murders  have  left  a  brilliant 
stain  on  its  palace  steps,  and  its  lighter  crimes 
have  peopled  its  halls  with  a  whispering-gallery 
of  ghosts,  in  the  midst  of  its  wickedness  Win- 
chester experienced  brief  returns  to  virtue,  when 
enough  good  was  done  to  make  the  blot  on  its 
escutcheon  seem  dim  by  comparison. 


WINCHESTER.  141 

Winchester  could  not  have  been  English  if  it 
had  not  conscientiously  erected  buildings  enough 
to  commemorate  its  goodness,  knowing,  with  the 
prescience  of  a  bad  conscience,  that  its  wickedness 
could  safely  be  left  to  historians.  It  is  the  office 
of  history  to  be  the  embalmer  of  human  frailty. 
The  passion  for  building  was  doubtless  invented 
when  the  great  found  their  virtues  were  in  danger 
of  being  buried  with  them. 

"  I  think,  on  the  whole,  architecture  and  the 
virtues  have  the  best  of  it  here  in  Winchester," 
remarked  Boston,  as  I  propounded  to  him  the 
above  conclusion. 

"  Wait  till  you  re-read  its  history." 

"  I  don't  intend  to.  Virtue  and  beauty  are  good 
enough  for  me.  After  all,  why  should  we  care  how 
wicked  they  were  when  they  've  left  us  this  ?  "  — 
with  a  comprehensive  sweep  of  his  hand. 

The  gesture  included  a  distant  group  of  turrets, 
the  gateway  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  the  King's  Cross, 
a  great  iron  arm  stretching  half-way  across  the 
street  holding  the  town  clock,  and  a  beautiful  old 
arched  doorway,  which  was  too  tempting  not  to  end 
by  luring  us  to  pass  beneath  it ;  for  we  were  out 
once  more  to  take  a  twilight  walk  about  the  city. 


142  CA  THE  DEAL  DA  YS. 

The  archway  led  us  into  a  quaint,  perfect  little 
bit  of  a  street.  It  was  filled  up  at  one  end  by  a 
curious  old  church,  which  we  learned  later  was 
aiamed  St.  Lawrence,  whose  portal  was  almost 
hidden  out  of  sight,  tucked  away  amid  a  lot  of 
tiny  shops  and  queer  low-browed  houses.  In  the 
half-dusk  of  the  twilight  hour  there  was  some- 
thing indescribably  mysterious  about  this  assem- 
blage of  closely  packed  old  buildings.  They  had 
the  air  of  conspirators.  The  silence  added  to  the 
secrecy  of  the  effect ;  the  archway  seemed  to 
separate  this  retired  little  corner  from  the  bustle. 
and  activity  of  the  broader  thoroughfare. 

A  rustle  of  trees  in  the  sweet  dusky  air  made 
us  hasten  our  steps.  Tlie  little  street  ended  as 
abruptly  as  -it  had  begun.  We  had  soon  passed 
into  a  large  open  space.  Then,  directly  in  front,  at 
an  oblique  angle,  there  loomed  up  into  the  gloom 
of  the  coming  night  a  superb  avenue  of  elms.  Be- 
yond them  loomed  something  else  so  vast  and 
stupendous  it  could  be  ^  nothing  save  the  great 
cathedral  itself. 

We  passed  under  the  green  arch  of  the  elms, 
over  the  short  sweet  grass  of  the  close.  Grave- 
stones were  dimly  glistening  here  and  there  in  the 


s 
u 


WINCHESTER.  143 

fading  light,  while  the  delicate  mystery  of  twilight 
melting  into  night  was  thickening  about  us.  A 
few  steps  farther  on,  the  green  arch  above  us  came 
to  an  end,  and  the  huge  facade  of  the  cathedral 
rose  into  the  sky.  In  the  rich  gloom  its  stupen- 
dous outlines  seemed  almost  to  touch  the  stars 
that  were  coming  out  to  light  it.  All  details  were 
lost ;  only  the  mass  as  a  whole  was  defined  for  us 
by  the  mingled  play  of  the  gloom  and  the  tender 
glow.  A  splendid  sweep  of  shadowy  light  swept 
the  length  of  the  long  nave,  girdling  it  with  dark- 
ness, —  a  darkness  which  had  deepened  in  the  great 
buttresses  till  they  looked  like  fissures  in  a  hill- 
side. All  the  light  there  was  in  the  sky  had  fo- 
cussed  itself  on  the  southern  transept  and  the  low 
square  central  tower,  beating  the  marble  into  a 
dulled  jewelled  iridescence.  The  sloping  roof,  as 
it  rose  into  the  light,  looked  like  the  pyramidal 
line  of  some  great  mountain  ridge,  tenderly  ethere- 
alized  as  it  neared  heaven. 

It  was  not  its  size  which  made  this  first  view 
of  the  cathedral  so  penetratingly  impressive.  It 
was  the  grandeur  and  the  unspeakable  majesty 
which  the  influences  of  the  hour  bestowed.  The 
silence,  the  quiet  stars,  the   dark   mantle  of  the 


144  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

night,  made  an  isolation  as  remote  from  the  pro- 
fane surroundings  of  the  outer  world  as  if  the 
great  cathedral  had  been  transported  to  some 
Egyptian  desert  and  were  resting  on  those  silent 

nds. 

If  the  modern  sight-seer  fails  to  be  impressed 
by  some  of  the  great  spectacles  of  the  world,  and 
finds  his  emotional  activities  but  feebly  stirred 
before  some  of  the  shrines  of  beauty  the  world 
holds  sacred,  I  am  convinced  it  is  because  the  mo- 
ment of  observation  is  rarely  rightly  chosen.  Art, 
like  Nature,  has  her  poetical  moods,  when  she  can 
be  studied  under  perfect  conditions.  The  artist 
comes  to  learn  the  workings  of  these  rare  and  fit- 
ful periods.  If  he  sees  deeper  into  beauty  and 
lives  nearer  to  it,  it  is  because  he  has  grown  to 
know  intuitively  this  moment  of  its  tenderest, 
loveliest  bloom. 

How  different,  for  instance,  would  have  been  our 
impressions  of  this  famous  cathedral  had  we  seen 
it  first  under  the  disenchanting  influences  of  our 
next  morning's  approach  !  The  broad  sunlight 
made  the  conspiracy  of  the  little  old  buildings  a 
very  prosaic  array  of  bric-lrbrac  shops.  On  the 
greensward  of  the  close,  among  the  gravestones, 


^ 


WINCHESTER.  145 

on  a  very  cheerful  footing  of  intimacy,  apparently, 
with  these  solemn  reminders  of  death,  were  some 
children  and  goats  playing  at  hide-and-seek.  At 
the  rear  of  the  cathedral,  near  some  rather 
shabby-looking  buildings,  hung  some  washing, — 
irreverent  garments  fluttering  their  new-born 
whiteness  in  the  very  face  of  their  magnificent 
neighbor. 

Even  the  cathedral  partook,  at  a  first  glance, 
of  the  general  disillusionment.  It  was  great,  it 
was  magnificent,  both  from  its  size  and  because 
of  its  noble  proportions.  But  at  first,  and  before 
one  comes  to  the  period  of  accepting  its  defects 
and  looking  only  for  the  beauties  which  end  by 
making  one  oblivious  of  the  former,  a  vague 
feeling  of  disappointment  ensues  ;  it  comes  from 
the  sense  that  the  vast  mass  is  lacking,  as  a 
whole,  in  those  qualities  of  the  picturesque  which 
are  among  the  pre-eminently  essential  qualifica- 
tions of  an  impressive  architectural  ensemble. 
The  eye  unconsciously  searches  somewhat  rest- 
lessly over  the  huge  pile  for  a  finished  tower  or 
for  some  imposing  turret  or  spire,  whose  spring 
and  lightness  will  float  the  mass  and  lift  it  into 

the  sky. 

10 


146  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

Oiice  within  the  cathedral,  however,  one  is 
only  conscious  of  an  overwhelming  delight  and 
admiration.  The  fact  that  the  entrance  through 
the  western  front  had  seemed  insignificant  as  the 
approach  to  so  splendid  a  building,  is  forgotten 
now,-.  The  glorious  flood  of  light  pouring  in 
Qirough  the  great  western  window,  to  which  the 
entire  facade  was  sacrificed  by  Bishop  Edington, 
renders  one  oblivious  to  all  else  save  the  sense  of 
the  splendid  lighting  that  makes  the  farthermost 
perspectives  clear  as  a  noonday  forest.  It  is  due 
to  this  famous  Edington  window  that  the  cathedral, 
the  largest  this  side  of  the  Alps,  is  the  least  gloomy 
in  all  the  world.  It  has  an  open-air,  sunlit  atmos- 
phere I  remember  in  no  other  of  the  great  English 
or  continental  cathedrals. 

A  curious  story  is  told  of  the  glass  in  this  win- 
dow. After  Cromwell's  soldiers  had  run  their 
swords  through  each  jewelled  figure  that  filled  the 
splendid  old  windows,  some  industrious  and  pains- 
taking citizen  went  about  collecting  the  broken 
fragments  that  lay  on  the  floor.  These  were  by 
him  carefully  preserved ;  and  after  the  restoration 
had  made  it  safe  for  them  to  be  produced,  this 
discreet    and    far-seeing    preserver    returned    his 


WINCHESTER.  147 

valuable  collection  to  the  cathedral.  The  bits  were 
carefully  arrayed  in  a  heterogeneous  mosaic,  and 
now  form  a  kind  of  crazy-quilt  pattern  in  the 
traceries  of  the  huge  window.  The  rich  reds, 
the  deep  purples,  and  the  golden  ambers  gleam 
with  all  tlieir  old  famed  jewelled  lustre.  The 
sunlight,  imprisoned  in  those  nests  of  color, 
escapes  to  carry  the  secret  of  its  luminous 
brilliancy  into  the  farthermost  shadows,  tinting 
the  dusk  under  the  great  roof,  and  flecking  in 
"  patterns  of  fine  gold "  the  uneven  tomb-paved 
floor.  Through  the  maze  of  that  prismatic  morn-' 
ing  light  we  passed  slowly  down  the  great  nave 
under  its  glorious  perpendicular  archings ;  we  lin- 
gered for  a  long  half-hour  in  the  rough,  unfinished 
Norman  transepts,  remains  of  the  Cyclopean  work 
left  by  the  early  Norman  bishop-builders.  The 
warrior  has  left  the  impress  of  his  military  taste 
on  all  these  early  Norman  cathedrals.  It  is  easily 
seen  to  be  the  work  of  men  who  were  accustomed 
to  build  fortresses  as  well  as  cathedrals,  when 
the  cathedrals,  indeed,  were  fortresses  and  must 
be  strong  before  they  could  be  beautiful.  These 
grand  old  transepts  might  have  resisted  any  num- 
ber of  sieges.     There  are  centuries  of  significant 


148  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

change  in  manners  and  in  men  to  be  read  in  the 
tremendous  contrast  afforded  between  those  deli- 
cate, perpendicular,  branching  traceries  out  yonder 
in  the  nave,  and  these  giant  fortress-like  transepts. 
Think  of  the  audacity  of  the  man  who  should  dare 
to  transform  those  stern  features  into  the  elegance 
and  symmetry  of  the  later  Gothic !  The  man  whose 
genius  and  daring  made  him  divine  that  such  a 
transformation  was  possible,  was  William  of  Wyke- 
ham.  His  predecessors,  in  order  to  complete  the 
beauty  of  •  the  great  cathedral,  had  added  either 
entirely  new  portions,  such  as  the  Lady  Chapel, 
built  by  Bishop  de  Lucy,  or  the  original  Norman 
structure  had  been  taken  down  and  entirely  re- 
constructed, as  was  done  under  Bishop  Edington 
in  the  presbytery,  the  western  portion  of  the  nave, 
and  the  triforium.  But  it  was  reserved  for  the 
original  genius  of  Bishop  Wykeham  to  deliber- 
ately change  the  old  Norman  work  to  the  soaring 
perpendicular  into  which  the  Gothic  of  his  day 
had  only  just  begun  to  bloom.  So  triumphant 
was  the  success  of  this  stupendous  venture  that 
not  a  trace  of  the  Norman  structure  in  the  long 
nave,  the  most  beautiful  in  England,  or  in  the 
aisles,  is  to  be  discovered.     This  triumphant  feat 


WINCHESTER.  149 

probably  stands  unrivalled  in  the  history  of  archi- 
tectural transformations.  The  three  great  features 
of  the  interior  of  Winchester  —  the  elaborate  per- 
pendicular nave  and  side  aisles,  the  rude  colossal 
Norman  transepts,  and  the  lovely  Early  English 
of  De  Lucy's  work  in  the  presbytery  —  combine  in 
producing  such  an  ensemble  of  striking  architec- 
tural contrasts  as  makes  this  interior  perhaps 
unrivalled  in  interest  in  England.  It  would  cer- 
tainly be  difficult  to  conceive  of  a  result  more 
remarkable  in  the  union  of  the  grand  and  the 
picturesque.  Part  of  this  picturesqueness  is  due  to 
its  being  so  richly  furnished  with  tombs,  chantries, 
statues,  monuments,  and  banners.  The  chiselled 
monuments  and  stately  airy  chantries  branch  in 
their  upshooting  lines  towards  the  great  roof,  like 
slender  tree-trunks  beneath  the  shade  of  loftier 
forest-heights.  Under  one  of  the  stateliest  of 
the  throne-like  chantries  we  came  upon  William 
of  Wykeham's  tomb.  Only  some  semblance  of  a 
throne  would  have  sufficed  to  enshrine  the  mem- 
ory of  so  autocratic  a  spirit.  He  was  one  of 
those  magnificent  prelates  who  during  his  life 
"  reigned  at  court,"  according  to  Froissart,  "  every- 
thing being   done   by  him,   and   nothing   without 


150  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

him."  With  such  superlative  pre-eminence  dur- 
ing a  long  and  triumphant  earthly  career,  when 
he  "  reigned  "  as  courtier,  wit,  engineer,  architect, 
bishop,  and  chancellor,  he  would  hardly  have  been 
human  if  he  had  not  wished  to  carry  something 
of  this  state  with  him  beyond  the  shades  of  death ; 
so  that  it  is  no  surprise  to  learn  that  between  the 
busy  hours  of  so  varied  and  brilliant  a  career 
Wykeham  found  time  to  arrange  it  with  his  archi- 
tectural genius  to  raise  a  monument  in  his  own 
behalf.  This  chantry,  with  its  rich  and  yet  regally 
majestic  elegance  and  severity  of  style,  was  de- 
signed by  him  and  built  on  the  spot  where,  as 
a  boy,  he  had  been  wont  to  offer  up  his  childish 
prayers  to  the  Virgin.  One  can  forgive  much 
of  that  foolish  yet  harmless  human  frailty,  the 
vain  longing  for  eternal  remembrance,  to  a  man 
whose  transcendent  genius  peopled  England  with 
some  of  its  noblest  buildings,  and  who,  it  is  sup- 
posed, was  the  real  inventor  of  perpendicular  tra- 
cery, that  last  and  richest  fruit  to  bloom  on  the 
lovely  Gothic  stem. 

Chantries,  tombs,  monuments,  and  mortuary 
urns  succeed  one  another  in  such  bewildering  vari- 
ety, blazoning  forth  such  a  wealth  of  virtue,  such 


WINCHESTER.  151 

a  multitude  of  military  achievements,  such  an  in- 
exhaustible array  of  talents  and  capacities,  that 
genius  and  goodness  and  greatness  come  to  appear 
as  commonplace  here  as  mediocrity  elsewhere. 
Winchester  has,  indeed,  been  so  rich  in  great 
men  that  even  the  largest  cathedral  in  England 
is  found  none  too  large  in  which  to  bury  them. 
Greatness  under  its  aisles  dwindled  into  such 
dwarfed  proportions  that  in  the  presbytery  yon- 
der, above  the  screens,  in  those  quaintly  curious 
mortuary  chests,  the  bones  of  Saxon  kings  and 
bishops  lie  comfortably  mingled  together. 

King  Rufus  might  himself  be  in  very  grave  doubt 
as  to  the  authenticity  of  his  own  osseous  frame^ 
work,  since  what  are  supposed  to  be  the  royal 
fragments  of  that  monarch  were  picked  up  after 
the  fall  of  the  tower,  and  somewhat  promiscuously 
handled  later  by  irreverent  Parliamentary  troops. 
Verily  the  wearing  of  a  crown  has  not  been  found 
to  be  the  most  stable  performance  even  in  an  Eng- 
lish burying-ground. 

Some  among  the  wearers  of  ecclesiastical  crowns 
have  been  suffered  to  lie  in  more  comparative  peace. 
Even  in  death  the  hand  that  carries  the  pastoral 
staff    seems    to    liold   within    its    grasp    heaven's 


152  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

hidden  thunderbolt  of  vengeance.  To  connect  the 
staff  with  any  idea  of  spiritual  guidance  in  the 
case  of  some  among  these  bishops  would  be  to  de- 
mand some  very  athletic  gymnastics  on  the  part 
of  one's  imagination.  With  Henri  de  Blois,  for 
instance, —  that  fine  old  martial  prelate  who  "  wore 
arms,  mingled  in  war,  and  indulged  in  all  the 
cruelties  and  exactions  of  the  time ; "  who,  when  he 
was  not  fighting  or  king-making  or  stealing  bene- 
fices or  castles,  filled  his  Isisure  with  the  refined 
amusements  of  building;  who  also  could  found 
the  noblest  charities  as  easily  as  he  could  "con- 
vey," in  Pistol's  phrase,  a  foot  of  Saint  Agatha  or 
the  thumb  of  Saint  James  for  his  cathedral  when 
the  latter  was  in  need  of  some  really  notably  holy 
relics,  —  one  would  hardly  go  to  such  a  middle- 
age  combination  of  ferocity,  genius,  and  unscrupu- 
lousness  for  a  delicate  adjustment  of  one's  spiritual 
relations  with  Deity. 

Under  the  masses  of  the  stone  embroideries 
which  cover  almost  every  inch  of  the  great  Beau- 
fort's chantry  yonder,  lies  the  stately  recumbent 
figure  of  the  Cardinal,  whose  portrait  Shakspeare 
has  immortalized  with  even  more  vivid  force  than 
the   sculptor's   chisel.     It   is   a   dark    portraiture, 


WINCHESTER.  153 

with  Rembrandtish  shadows  of  iniquity  in  it ;  but 
that  picturesque  mingling  of  the  good  and  the  bad 
there  was  in  the  all  too  "  rich  Cardinal,"  the  stately 
Beaufort,  will  survive  all  attempts  of  the  historian 
to  produce  a  more  faithful  and  lenient  delineation. 

It  was  a  relief  to  turn  away  from  the  vices  of 
the  great,  and  even  from  the  magnificence  of  the 
state  in  which  the  dark  glory  of  their  achieve- 
ments lie  buried,  to  the  unostentatious,  simple 
tombs  about  us,  —  to  those  poorer  tablets  and 
monuments  which  commemorate  the  gentler  lives 
of  some  whom  we  have  all  grown  to  love  —  as 
one  loves  the  nobler,  sweeter  influences. 

Under  a  white  tablet,  as  pure  and  snowy  as  her 
spirit,  in  the  north  aisle,  lies  the  body  of  Jane 
Austen.  The  inscription  is  characterized  by  a 
directness  and  simplicity  so  admirable  she  her- 
self might  have  been  the  writer  thereof :  "  Jane 
Austen,  known  to  many  by  her  writings,  endeared 
to  her  family  by  the  varied  charms  of  her  char- 
acter, and  ennobled  by  Christian  faith  and  charity, 
w^as  born  at  Steventon,  in  the  county  of  Hants, 
Dec.  16,  1775,  and  buried  in  this  cathedral  July 
24,  1817.  She  openeth  her  mouth  with  Avisdom, 
and  in  her  tongue  is  the  law  of  kindness." 


154  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

A  soul  as  gentle,  and  one  wliose  delicate  genius 
for  discovering  the  hidden  joys  that  dwell  in  the 
world  has  made  him  the  immortal  companion  of 
every  lover  of  the  woods  and  streams,  is  buried  in 
the  opposite  transept.  Izaak  Walton,  that  "  prince 
of  fishermen,"  lies  under  a  plain  black  marble  slab, 
as  humbly  as  he  doubtless  walked  among  his  in- 
feriors, in  his  shabby  hose  and  neglected  wig,  dur- 
ing his  peace-loving  life.  As  he  is  known  to  have 
died  in  the  house  of  his  son-in-law,  who  was  a 
prebendary  of  Winchester,  all  the  streams  and 
river-banks  near  the  city  must  have  been  the 
scenes  of  his  sylvan  experiences  and  the  inspira- 
tion of  that  genial  philosophy  which  has  made  the 
delicate  flame  of  his  genius  light  up  so  many  of 
our  dull  hours. 

But  with  the  best  disposition  in  the  world  to 
linger  among  the  tombs  of  these  lesser  great  ones, 
whose  immortality  has  been  won  by  the  more 
plebeian  birthright  of  genius,  so  richly  incrusted 
is  this  cathedral  with  the  memorials  and  reminders 
of  those  whom  destiny  and  history  in  combination 
have  crowned  with  fame,  tliat  one  is  confronted  at 
every  turn  with  some  new  name  or  device  which 
arrests  the  eye  and  stays  the  step. 


WINCHESTER.  155 

We  had  turned  into  the  Lady  Chapel  to  look  at 
some  particularly  lovely  bacchic  ornamentation  on 
some  of  the  capitals,  —  vines,  grapes,  leaves,  and 
tendrils  as  tenderly  carved  as  if  meant  to  crov/n 
a  god  instead  of  a  column,  —  when  we  chanced  on 
a  faded  chair.  The  chair  in  itself  was  not  remark- 
able either  for  beauty  or  grace ;  but  in  that  moon- 
shaped  curve  and  on  that  now  worn  and  faded 
velvet  Queen  Mary  had  sat  when  in  this  chapel 
she  gave  her  hand  to  Philip  of  Spain.  It  was 
the  wickedest  hand-clasp  ever  interchanged ;  for 
it  was  the  pledge  of  those  two  cold-blooded  fa- 
natics to  make  English  heretical  blood  flow  farther 
than  English  rivers  run.  English  beauty,  however, 
as  if  foreseeing  its  decimation,  had,  at  this  wed- 
ding ceremony,  a  moment  of  brilliant  triumph  be- 
fore the  lights  were  put  out  and  the  fagots  were 
fired ;  for  the  historians  of  the  period  tell  us  that 
the  English  court  beauties  put  the  darker  olive- 
cheeked  Spanish  women  under  a  total  eclipse  in 
the  beautiful  little  chapel.  Their  fresh  complex- 
ions made  their  Southern  sisters  look  sallow. 
They  completed  their  revenge  later  at  the  mar- 
riage banquet  and  ball,  where  their  stateliness 
made   Spanish   grace   seem  wanting   in   elegance. 


156  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

ilven  a  little  persecution  could  be  endured  with 
equanimity  after  such  a  triumph.  A  few  years 
later,  the  Gallic  saying  "II  faut  souffrir  pour 
etre  belle  "  needed,  presumably,  no  translator. 

In  spite  of  this  unhallowed  association,  it  is  im- 
possible not  to  return  again  and  again  to  this 
apsidal  portion  of  the  cathedral.  The  wealth  of 
ornamentation  and  the  inexhaustible  variety  of 
beauty  in  the  choir,  presbytery,  chapels,  and 
chantries,  together  with  the  marvellously  lovely 
lighting,  or  rather  darkening,  from  the  effect  of 
the  deep  shadows,  make  this  eastern  end  full  of 
peculiar  fascination.  In  the  choir  one  lingers 
longest,  perhaps,  over  the  carved  stalls,  whose 
delicate  foliaged  ornamentation  seems  to  have 
been  carved  by  the  sun  and  the  wind  rather  than 
by  the  chisel.  Beyond  is  the  magnificent  reredos, 
so  ingeniously  elaborate  as  to  make  the  minutiae 
of  lace-work  insignificant  by  comparison.  Behind 
this  great  altar  screen-work  of  embroidery  is 
a  series  of  shrines  known  as  the  feretra,  or 
shrines,  of  patron  saints.  Here  the  glory  of 
workmanship  has  given  place  to  the  strictly  pro- 
fessional necessities  of  the  place ;  for  here,  in 
early   superstitious  days,  sick    persons,    awaiting 


Chantries,  Winchester. 


Page  156. 


WINCHESTER.  157 

some  miraculous  cure,  were  allowed  to  remain 
over  night,  that  they  might  tJie  more  obstinately 
wrench  their  salvation  from  the  saints  enshrined 
above,  —  from  Saint  Swithun,  Saint  Birinus,  and 
other  sainted  workers  of  cures. 

With  the  superstition  something  also  of  that 
olden  talent  for  religious  enthusiasm  has  vanished. 
Those  ardent  troops  of  pilgrims,  who  were  so  sure 
of  their  saints,  are  now  replaced  by  pilgrims  bent 
on  a  very  different  mission.  The  pilgrims  in 
search  of  the  picturesque,  who  level  opera-glasses 
at  the  stone  effigies  whose  feet  those  earlier  pilgrims 
bathed  with  the  passion  of  their  believing  tears, 
are  more  numerous  now,  on  week-days  at  least, 
than  the  worshippers.  We  came  again  and  again, 
at  all  hours  and  at  all  seasons,  to  morning  and 
evening  service,  in  the  hours  when  the  whole  of 
the  vast  interior  should  resound  only  to  the  echo 
of  devout  footsteps,  and  it  was  always  the  tour- 
ist, rather  than  the  worshipper,  who  formed  the 
conspicuous  plurality  among  the  visitors.  The 
Englishman  and  the  Englishwoman  (who  is  the 
better  saint)  do  not  go  to  church  to  pray.  The 
closet  is  a  place  more  in  conformity  with  the 
national  reserve  and  the  abhorrence  of  emotional 


158  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

parade.  Thus  these  great  and  magnificent  cathe- 
drals are  as  empty  and  as  silent  as  deserted 
palaces.  At  evening  service,  it  is  true,  dark 
drab-colored  figures,  old  ladies  with  sweet  pious 
faces  and  an  air  of  subdued  provincial  calm,  a 
few  younger  women,  among  them  sometimes  a 
lovely  fair-faced  girl,  and  a  child  or  two,  passed 
within  the  choir  screen  and  formed  the  little  band 
of  worshippers,  for  whom  the  long  line  of  deans, 
choristers,  and  vergers,  with  their  elaborate  vest- 
ments, seemed  a  useless  and  wasted  pageant. 
One  misses  the  troops  of  beggars  —  the  squad 
of  the  ill-clad,  the  cold,  the  hungry,  and  the 
homeless  —  who  flock  under  the  great  roofs  of 
the  continental  cathedrals  as  to  a  natural  refuge. 
One  misses  also  the  earnest  passionate  faces,  the 
lips  moving  in  half-audible  prayer  as  the  fingers 
slip  over  the  worn  pater-nosters,  the  bowed  forms, 
and  the  bended  knee  of  those  more  spectacular- 
loving  worshippers  who  love  to  make  their  piety 
a  public  thing. 

Here,  on  the  contrary,  there  is  the  dignity  of 
reserve,  there  is  order,  there  is  the  holy  calm  of 
silence.  Even  the  chairs  under  the  great  aisles 
are  placed  in  precise  lines.     They  can  safely  be 


WINCHESTER.  159 

left  there ;  none  will  come  to  disturb  them.  The 
priests  issue  from  their  vestry  clothed  in  the 
majesty  of  their  dignified  calm ;  the  lessons  are 
intoned  with  beautiful  but  cold  correctness;  the 
boy-choristers'  voices  rise  up  under  the  great 
arches  with  sexless  purity  and  unimpassioned  ac- 
cent ;  the  prayers  are  whisperingly  responded  to 
by  the  little  group  of  the  devout ;  and  then  all 
silently  rise  and  pass  out,  and  God's  temple  is  as 
silent  as  a  tomb. 

One  must  come  to  England  to  see  what  Protes- 
tantism really  means  as  a  religion,  —  how  deep 
the  religious  feeling  may  be,  and  yet  how  calm 
and  unmoved,  almost  to  the  point  of  seeming  in- 
difference, the  outward  bearing  remains.  I  have 
sometimes  wondered  if  the  tenacious  English  rev- 
erence for  decency  may  not  be  a  strong  and  potent 
element  in  their  religious  observance;  if  in  the 
logical  make-up  of  even  the  dullest  and  poorest 
there  may  not  be  some  vague  notion  of  the  relation 
that  ought  to  exist  between  a  clean  shirt  and  a 
conscience  pure  enough  to  approach  its.  Maker. 
Certain  it  is  that  one  rarely  if  ever  sees  a  tattered 
worshipper  under  these  vast  aisles.  It  is  a  pity, 
because,  once  within,  the  beggar  would  find  him- 


160  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

self  in  a  company  of  his  fellows.  The  saints  wear 
their  rags  and  ruined  draperies  very  complacently. 
But  then  they  were  canonized  for  it ;  and  enforced 
irapecuniosity,  in  search  of  eleemosynary  pennies, 
cannot  always  be  sure  of  earning  an  aureole  to 
make  its  poverty  glorious. 


A   COLLEGE  AND  AN  ALMSHOUSE.        161 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  COLLEGE  AND  AN  ALMSHOUSE. 

"NT 0  little  city  ever  lent  itself  so  admirably  to 
•*-  ^  the  innocent  designs  of  two  tourists  bent 
on  the  capture  of  every  hidden  secret  of  its  ancient 
charm  and  antique  beauty,  as  Winchester.  One 
may  almost  count  on  an  adventure  with  the  pic- 
turesque at  every  turning.  A  surprise  appears 
to  lie  in  wait  for  one  at  the  corner  of  each  of 
its  perfect  streets.  Gateways  open  at  most  unex- 
pected angles,  beneath  which  one  passes  from  the 
bustle  of  its  lively  old  streets  into  the  cloistral 
calm  of  some  ancient  convent  or  palace ;  or  one 
confronts  the  crenellated  tops  of  mediaeval  walls  to 
find  within  such  a  nest  of  old  houses,  in  so  per- 
fect a  state  of  preservation  as  to  make  it  appear 
that  the  enclosure  had  been  built  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  affording  a  fortified  protection  against 
decay  and  ruin. 

The    contrast   presented   between    such    model 

specimens   of   antique   life    and    the   active,  stir- 

11 


162  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

ring,  every-day  modern  living  invests  these  old 
towns  and  cities  with  their  perfect  quality  and 
charm.  In  spite  of  its  venerable  and  austerely 
remote  age,  Winchester  ends  by  impressing  one 
with  its  having  already  included  the  nineteenth 
century  among  its  collection  of  historical  periods. 
The  bargaining,  for  instance,  which  we  could  not 
fail  to  notice,  from  the  quite  audible  tones  in 
the  little  open  shops,  gave  us  a  very  realizing 
feeling  that  if  time  was  fleeting,  trade  at  least 
was  long.  The  Winchester  buyers  and  tradesmen 
have  not  lost  all  their  ancient  talent  for  investing 
the  simple  act  of  buying  and  selling  with  those 
difficulties  which  raise  it  into  an  art.  Its  citizens 
have  had  a  long  tutelage  in  trade.  From  the  time 
of  the  early  Norman  kings  to  the  reign  of  Henry 
VIII.,  its  great  annual  fairs  on  St.  Giles'  Hill,  just 
outside  the  town,  attracted  the  great  merchants 
from  Flanders  and  France  and  Italy,  who  came  to 
buy  English  cloth.  The  little  city  still  retains 
some  pretty  customs  and  habits  as  a  legacy  of 
that  lost  glory  of  commercial  supremacy.  We 
chanced  to  prolong  our  stay  over  the  market-day, 
which,  in  England,  is  still  held  on  Saturday.  Early 
in    the    morning    strolling    venders    and    pedlers 


A   COLLEGE  AND  AN  ALMSHOUSE.         163 

erected  little  booths  and  improvised  gay  holiday 
shows  along  the  undulating  High  Street.  All  day 
the  thoroughfare  was  thickly  packed  with  a  swarm- 
ing mass  of  humanity,  —  with  farmers  and  their 
wives,  the  latter  in  wonderful  poke-bonnets  of 
the  last  century,  and  their  more  modern  daugh- 
ters in  the  modified  French  poke  of  our  own 
decade ;  with  townspeople  and  county  squires, 
who  crowded  about  the  shops,  the  booths,  and 
the  gayly  decked  carts,  thronging  into  the  mid- 
dle of  the  street  and  filling  the  air  with  the 
noise  of  their  bargaining.  There  were  brilliant 
dashes  of  color  among  the  dull  blouses  and 
the  flimsy  printed  lawns,  contributed  by  the 
numerous  red  coats  of  the  soldiers ;  for  Win- 
chester is  a  brigade  station,  and  we  concluded 
that  the  entire  brigade  had  assumed,  as  part  of 
its  military  obligations,  the  duty  of  lighting 
up  the  sombre  nineteenth-century  dulness  with 
the  brave  splendor  of  its  fatigue-coats  and  gold 
lace. 

We  followed,  at  a  discreet  distance,  a. group  of 
these  sons  of  war  on  their  stroll  through  the 
crowd,  up  to  the  top  of  the  hill.  It  was  partly 
with  the  desire  to  learn  whether  the  day's  unwonted 


164  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

animation  had  spread  up  and  beyond  the  imperial 
crown  of  the  great  gateway,  and  also  because  we 
were  in  search  of  a  palace  and  a  fountain.  The 
sons  of  war  deserted  us  before  we  had  discovered 
either.  They  passed,  in  a  body,  beneath  a  swing- 
ing open  door  near  the  gateway.  The  door  re- 
mained open  long  enough  for  us  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  a  charming  pair  of  blue  eyes,  a  mass 
of  curly  hair,  a  trim  jaunty  figure,  and  a  row 
of  shining  glasses.  We  were  no  longer  in  doubt 
as  to  the  cause  of  the  brigade's  unanimous  pref- 
erence for  beer  a  mile  away  from  the  barracks, 
even  if  to  drink  it  they  must  climb  the  long  steep 
hill. 

The  fountain  lay  so  close  to  the  little  beer-shop 
tliat  we  could  hear  the  click  of  the  glasses  and  the 
short  bass  notes  in  the  laughs  that  went  up  within. 
The  admonition  contained  in  the  lines  cut  on  the 
stone  pedestal  of  the  fountain  seemed  curiously 
ineffectual  and  meaningless  with  that  rival  estab- 
lishment and  its  potent  magnet  so  near.  Who 
would  even  stop  to  read  the  appeal  on  the  old 
fountain  ?  — 

••  Stop,  friends,  and  diiuk  your  fill, 
And  do  not  use  my  fountain  ill." 


A   COLLEGE  AND  AN  ALMSHOUSE.         165 

The  thin  stream  of  water  trickling  into  the 
open  basin  seemed  of  a  piece  with  most  of  the 
wise  counsel  in  the  world, — a  slender  treble  of 
warning  drowned  by  the  loud  chorus  of  the 
unheeding. 

The  mass  of  gray  shadow  which  filled  up  the 
foreground  directly  in  front  of  us,  as  we  turned  to 
the  right,  could  be  nothing  else  save  the  palace 
which  we  had  come  to  find.  If  it  was  a  palace 
it  had  so  very  pronounced  an  ecclesiastical  aspect 
as  at  first  to  lead  us  to  infer  it  was  a  church.  But 
as  we  had  been  told  to  find  in  this  ancient  pal- 
ace of  Henry  III.'s  reign  one  of  the  most  perfect 
examples  of  domestic  architecture  of  tliat  palace- 
building  period,  the  fact  of  its  interior  being 
divided  into  aisles  by  pillars,  and  its  long  church- 
like windows,  that  further  served  to  emphasize  its 
religious  character,  proved  the  deficiencies  of  our 
own  architectural  standards.  The  series  of  mur- 
ders —  which  historians,  with  more  amenity  than 
veracity,  call  executions  —  that  have  taken  place 
in  the  courtyard  of  the  castle  make  it,  on  the 
whole,  much  safer  for  the  tourist  at  once  to  estab- 
lish its  identity  as  a  palace.  The  Church  has  had 
so  many  such  dark  stains  to  hide  within  its  own 


166  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

mantle,  it  is  but  generous  to  allow  the  State  to 
stand  sponsor  for  a  few  of  those  bloody  necessities. 
The  luckless  Earl  of  Kent  came  to  his  execution 
here ;  and  in  the  seventeenth  century  several 
priests  marched  wearily  up  the  long  hill  to  look 
their  last  on  earth  over  the  stone  parapet  which 
crowns  the  hill,  and  beyond  which  lies  such  a 
glorious  prospect  of  the  city,  the  cathedral,  and  the 
sloping  hills. 

The  least  depressing  association  with  this  palace 
is  the  fact  that  to  its  keeping  has  fallen  the  honor 
of  preserving  a  rare  and  singular  painting.  It  is 
so  old  that  its  history  is  lost  in  conjecture.  The 
painting  represents  King  Arthur's  Round  Table  ; 
the  gallant  king  himself  in  the  centre,  wearing  his 
crown,  the  twenty-four  radiations  of  which  bear 
each  the  name  of  some  famous  knight.  The 
severe,  upright-looking  monarch,  with  his  gro- 
tesque limbs  out  of  drawing,  and  his  strange 
history-flowering  crown,  seemed  admirably  in  keep- 
ing with  the  solemn  cathedral-like  interior,  the 
heraldic  bearings  on  the  old  stained  glass,  and 
the  air  of  brooding  silence  "v^e  had  left  behind  us. 
It  was  the  ghost  of  the  past  come  to  take  posses- 
sion of  this  ghoulish  palace. 


A   COLLEGE  AND  AN  ALMSHOUSE.         167 

Our  walk  that  afternoon  did  not  end  with  our 
discovery  of  the  castle.  We  descended  the  hill  by 
making  a  detour  among  a  number  of  little  streets, 
avoiding  the  more  thronged  thoroughfare.  We 
were  rewarded  for  our  temerity  in  plunging  into 
these  unknown  labyrinths  by  stumbling  on  a 
number  of  little  adventures.  We  learned,  among 
other  things,  that  all  of  the  Winchester  inhabi- 
tants who  were  not  shopping  on  High  Street  were 
very  busy  doing  nothing,  unless  lolling  out  of 
narrow  casements  and  leaning  against  door-jambs, 
exchanging  the  small  pence  of  conversational 
amenities,  may  be  termed  a  form  of  industry.  It 
was  quite  evident  that  market-day  in  the  little 
city  was  looked  upon  as  a  quasi  holiday,  —  a  time 
for  a  loosening  of  the  moral  tension  and  for  an 
unwonted  indulgence  in  the  breaking  of  the 
eternal  English  silence.  We  might  almost  have 
thought  ourselves  in  some  French  town,  such  was 
the  din  of  the  voices  and  the  clatter  of  heavy- 
booted  feet  over  the  rough  stones.  The  faces  could . 
never  have  been  anything  but  English,  with  their 
fresh  high  color,  their  calm  and  immobile  expres- 
sion, and  the  soft  liquid  eyes.  Beauty  among  the 
women  in  England  appears  to  diminish  in  propor- 


168  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

tion  as  the  rank  in  life  increases.  These  streets 
were  filled  with  charmingly  pretty  girls  and  fine- 
looking  women,  whose  type  can  only  be  classed 
as  rustic,  because  the  word  seems  best  to  describe 
the  delicious  quality  of  their  freshness  and  riant 
health.  Two  girls  standing  in  an  open  doorway, 
with  close  little  English  hats  and  white  netted 
veils,  made  a  charming  little  picture  for  us  as  we 
passed  down  one  of  the  wider  streets.  Their  air 
of  simple  unaffected  naturalness  was  rather  height- 
ened than  otherwise  by  the  fact  that  they  were 
both  munching  tarts;  and  this  proof  of  their 
hearty  and  unabashed  young  appetites  reminded 
us  forcibly  that  a  two  hours'  walk  up  and  down 
crooked  streets  would  make  the  sight  of  a  cake- 
shop  a  most  welcome  spectacle. 

At  the  turn  of  the  next  street,  as  if  in  answer 
to  our  wish,  we  stumbled  on  a  really  astonishing 
collection  of  pastry.  For  nearly  two  streets,  on 
either  side  of  the  way,  every  other  shop  appeared 
to  be  a  cake-shop.  Every  variety  of  jumble,  muffin, 
tart,  seed-cake,  plum-cake,  and  turnover,  known 
to  the  inventive  mind  of  cake-making  man,  was 
arranged  in  such  multitudinous  confusion  and  pro- 
fusion that  nothing  but  a  proximity  of  boy  could 


A   COLLEGE  AND  AN  ALMSHOUSE.         169 

possibly  explain  so  many  rival  establishments  ey- 
ing one  another  so  complacently. 

"  I  have  my  suspicions  that  we  are  nearing  the 
college ;  only  a  college  could  eat  and  pay  for  so 
much  pastry,"  I  remarked  to  Boston,  as  we  stood 
making  our  choice  of  the  several  shop-windows  in 
front  of  us. 

The  suspicions  were  entirely  confirmed  by  the 
appearance  of  two  dashing  young  fellows,  carrying 
the  train  of  their  black  gowns  over  their  arms,  and 
wearing  the  well-known  three-cornered  Wykeham- 
ite  hat.  They  were  of  stalwart  build,  and  both 
boasted  a  very  perceptible  growth  of  virgin  mus- 
taches ;  and  they  were  engaged  in  no  less  serious 
an  occupation  than  the  eating  of  two  large  seed- 
cakes. Age  in  this  case,  it  was  quite  evident, 
had  nothing  to  do  with  an  appreciation  of  tarts. 
The  shops,  we  discovered  as  we  strolled  past  them, 
were  peopled  with  numbers  of  young  gentlemen 
of  similar  tastes ;  however  grown  up  their  appear- 
ance might  proclaim  them  to  be,  their  capacity  for 
devouring  unlimited  cakes  proved  there  was  nothing 
venerable  at  least  in  their  fresh  young  appetites. 

College  Street,  which  ended  by  leading  us  directly 
to  the  college,  is  flanked  on  the  side  nearest  that 


no  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

famous  collection  of  buildings  by  a  wall  so  high 
and  so  formidably  protective  as  to  suggest  its 
capacity  for  withstanding  a  very  respectable  siege. 
Doubtless  the  wall  has  served  this  very  obvious 
purpose  in  the  defence  and  security  of  the  build- 
ings ;  for  these  latter  date  back  to  a  time  when 
every  house  needed  to  be  a  fortress.  In  Saxon 
days  Winchester  had  already  gained  its  reputa- 
tion as  an  educational  centre.  King  Alfred  and 
Ethelwold  were  sent  here  to  be  under  the  influ- 
ence of  the  learned  Saint  Swithun.  Five  hun- 
dred years  later,  when  William  of  Wykeham  raised 
the  present  noble  buildings  on  their  ancient  founda- 
tions, the  system  of  education  which  he  established 
increased  the  fame  of  the  college  to  such  a  de- 
gree as  to  make  it  stand  among  the  first  in  the 
world,  —  a  pre-eminence  it  maintains  until  the  pres- 
ent day. 

As  we  entered  the  courtyard,  we  seemed  all 
at  once  to  have  entered  into  a  different  climate. 
There  was  something  peculiarly  soft  and  sweet  in 
the  air.  It  was  more  than  sweet ;  it  was  sweetish. 
The  air  was  heavy  with  a  fragrance  which  ap- 
peared to  penetrate  into  all  parts  of  the  grounds 
and  the  buildings.     When  we  learned  later   that 


A   COLLEGE  AND  AN  ALMSHOUSE.         ITl 

the  college  still  brews  its  own  beer,  the  mystery  of 
this  rich  soft  odor  was  revealed.  It  is  the  dis- 
tilling that  makes  the  college  appear  to  have  a 
climate  of  its  own.  William  of  Wykeham  had 
presumably  some  relish  for  the  good  things  of 
life,  although  doubtless  his  taste  did  not  take  the 
now  classical  Wykehamite  preference  for  tarts 
over  other  dainties.  He  made  very  ample  provis- 
ion that  his  boys  should  not  suffer  for  the  essen- 
tials of  life.  Beside  the  brewery,  which  is  close  to 
the  street,  there  stands  a  building,  now  empty, 
where  until  very  recently  the  college  did  its  own 
beef-killing.  With  an  abattoir,  a  brewery,  and  the 
college  bakers  and  cooks,  the  institution  was  as 
independent  of  the  rest  of  the  world  as  all  self- 
respecting  institutions  should  be. 

That  a  man's  stomach  was  of  far  more  impor- 
tance than  the  condition  of  his  skin  in  those  old 
days  before  the  fine  art  of  cleanliness  was  dis- 
covered, was  very  forcibly  proved  by  the  contrast 
presented  between  the  grand  old  mediaeval  kitchen, 
of  the  proportions  of  a  palace  audience-chamber, 
and  the  washing  apparatus  of  the  same  period. 
The  latter  is  now  shown  among  the  curiosities 
of    the    college.     In    the    courtyard    was    a  low 


172  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

arched  recess,  within  which  stood  a  moderately- 
sized  square  stone  trough.  This,  we  were  assured, 
was  the  primitive  lavatory,  bath  and  basin  in  one, 
of  those  less  scrupulously  cleanly  days.  It  was 
assuredly  most  complete  in  the  economy  of  its 
equipment.  No  Yankee  invention  for  supplying 
an  entire  college  with  an  apparatus  of  that  nature, 
one  which  should  combine  simplicity  with  cheap- 
ness, could  hope  to  equal  so  perfect  an  arrange- 
ment. Imagine  the  spectacle  of  seventy  or  eighty 
boys  in  line  on  frosty  mornings,  awaiting  their 
turn  at  that  ice-cold  basin.  Such  a  reminder  of 
past  sufferings  makes  one's  sympathies  with 
the  great  medieval  unwashed  very  active.  The 
only  wonder  is,  since  English  boys  have  grown 
up  under  influences  so  adverse  to  the  develop- 
ment of  a  love  of  personal  cleanliness,  how  it 
comes  that  the  daily  bath  has  now  become  the 
sign  by  which,  the  world  over,  the  Englishman 
betrays  his  nationality.  In  keeping  with  the  Spar- 
tan severity  of  the  washing-trough  was  the  primi- 
tive character  of  the  dormitories.  A  still  more 
eloquent  reminder  of  the  discipline  maintained 
in  those  ruder,  hardier  days  was  the  warning 
mottoes  on  the  walls  of  the  big  school-room,  —  "  Aut 


A   COLLEGE  AND  AN  ALMSHOUSE.         173 

disce  aiit  discede  :  manet  sors  tertia  caedi,"  —  and 
the  various  devices  illustrating  the  same  ;  one  of 
the  quaint  paintings  being  a  vivid  portrayal  of  the 
meaning  of  "sors  tertia"  —  the  birch.  The  old 
oak  forms,  on  which  the  boys  sit  astride,  and  their 
"  scots "  still  remain ;  both  bear  the  hieroglyphic 
writing  of  which  every  boy  appears  to  have  the 
secret. 

Architecturally  one's  interest  centres  in  the 
college  chapel,  which  is  of  great  beauty.  It  bears 
evidence,  in  all  the  features  of  its  refined  and 
perfect  proportions,  of  the  genius  and  taste  of  its 
builder,  William  of  Wykeham  having  built  it  in 
1387.  It  is  the  more  interesting  as  proving  that 
wonderful  architect's  versatility  in  dealing  with 
different  styles,  the  severe  simplicity  of  the  Early 
English  interior  of  this  delightful  little  chapel 
differing  as  widely  as  possible  from  the  more 
ornate  perpendicular  of  his  work  in  the  cathedral. 
The  cloisters  are  in  an  equally  perfect  state  of 
preservation,  with  some  rare  and  charming  tracer- 
ies in  the  arcades.  Here,  in  the  cool  sweet  damp 
of  the  summer-time,  the  Wykehamites  in  olden 
days  came  to  walk  or  to  sit  as  they  conned  their 
lessons.     The  stone  benches  are  as  worn  as  if  they 


174  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

had  been  made  originally  of  more  impressionable 
wood.  They  are  as  scratched  with  names  and 
dates  as  only  school-boys  and  glaciers  know  how 
to  scratch.  Many  of  the  names  one  reads  over  the 
archways  or  along  the  cornices  are  among  those 
now  great  and  famous.  Among  them  the  initials 
"  T.  K."  are  a  reminder  of  Bishop  Ken,  that 
courageous  churchman  who,  as  Prebendary  Ken, 
refused  to  allow  the  gay  wanton  Nell  Gwynne  to 
enter  the  deanery  on  the  occasions  when  her  lover 
Charles  II.  had  the  impulse  to  lodge  there  during 
one  of  his  flying  visits. 

Another  kind  of  hand-writing  still  more  elo- 
quent than  these  scrawled  great  names  is  written 
on  the  tablets  and  brasses  in  the  little  open 
arcade  adjoining  the  chapel.  Here,  as  well  as 
in  the  chapel,  are  memorial  tablets  commemo- 
rating the  bravery  and  gallant  deeds  of  those 
Wykehamites  who  have  fallen  on  the  battle-field 
in  defence  of  their  country.  Some  bore  very  recent 
dates.  The  Zulu  and  Afghanistan  wars  have 
mown  down  many  a  Winchester  hero ;  and  here 
was  the  record  of  their  glorious  courage  blazoned 
in  gold  and  black  on  the  shining  brass  tablets. 
There  is  something  stupendously  fine  in  this  speedy 


A   COLLEGE  AND  AN  ALMSHOUSE.         175 

recognition  of  heroism.  In  England,  if  a  man 
loses  his  life  for  his  country,  at  least  he  may  count 
on  her  not  forgetting  the  sacrifice.  This  admi- 
rable and  hearty  recognition  of  a  man's  services 
must  breed  the  very  heroism  it  commemorates. 
There  can  be  no  more  stirring  appeal  to  youthful 
imaginations  and  to  young  courage  tlian  just  such 
eloquence  as  this,  —  the  eloquence  of  heroism  aure- 
oled  by  death  and  crowned  by  public  recognition. 

It  was  impossible,  however,  to  entertain  such 
a  sombre  assemblage  of  departed  heroes  in  the 
company  of  the  very  lively  young  gentlemen  who 
were  engaged  in  cricket  and  ball  matches  in  the 
playground  at  the  back  of  the  college  buildings. 
These  grounds  are  of  great  extent,  ending  only 
with  the  river,  which  makes  a  silver  thread  of 
gleaming  light  in  among  the  more  distant  meadows. 
There  were  a  number  of  the  boys  crossing  the 
river,  on  their  way  up  towards  St.  Catherine  Hill, 
a  favorite  playground  on  a  still  wider  plane  of 
extension.  It  all  formed  a  charming,  brilliant 
prospect,  —  the  green  fields,  the  splendid  trees,  the 
soft  summer  sky,  and  the  added  animation  of  the 
romping,  ball-tossing,  fine  young  English  lads  with 
their  bats  and  their  cricket. 


176  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

Their  holiday  gayety  was  infectious.  In  spite  of 
our  long  walk  we  did  not  feel  in  the  least  inclined 
to  go  back  into  the  narrow,  close  little  streets  of 
the  city.  These  soft,  brilliant  meadows  and  the 
flowery  river-banks  were  altogether  too  tempting 
company  to  forsake  on  such  a  golden  afternoon. 

Our  stroll  took  us  along  the  very  edge  of  the 
river,  under  noble  trees,  with  the  full  breadth  of 
the  hills  on  the  opposite  side,  on  which  the  after- 
noon shadows  were  sleeping  as  if  on  a  mother's 
breast.  We  traversed  several  fields,  green,  star- 
gemmed  with  the  trefoiled  buttercup,  and  behold ! 
again  more  ruins.  A  noble  mass  sprang  up,  as  if 
magic  impelled,  at  a  sudden  bend  in  the  road. 

In  taking  the  most  innocent  walk  about  Win- 
chester, bent  only  on  pastoral  pleasures,  it  is  not 
safe,  apparently,  to  venture  forth  without  one's 
guide-book  and  an  exceedingly  alert  imagination. 

Our  memory  and  our  imagination  served  us 
admirably  that  afternoon  in  establishing  the  date 
and  the  history  of  this  beautiful  crumbling  pile  of 
buildings.  We  knew  the  ruins  could  be  none 
other  than  those  of  Wolversy  Castle,  formerly  the 
great  and  splendid  Bishop's  Palace.  It  was  de- 
molished in  the  time  of  the  civil  war,  and  never 


A   COLLEGE  AND  AN  ALMSHOUSE.         177 

entirely  rebuilt,  the  bishops  having  taken  refuge 
in  Farnham  Castle,  Surrey,  which  latter  seat  has 
since  been  the  Bishop's  Palace.  Nothing  more 
admirable  could  be  conceived  than  the  taste  of 
the  Commonwealth  troopers  in  making  such  a  su- 
perb collection  of  ruins  just  here.  The  river,  the 
surrounding  green  fields,  the  tender  protecting 
foliage,  and  the  delightful  grouping  made  by  the 
crumbling  castle  in  the  foreground,  with  the  little 
modernized  perpendicular  chapel,  and  beyond,  the 
square  mass  of  the  cathedral  tower,  made  as  com- 
plete a  picturesque  ensemble  as  the  most  fastidious 
tourist's  eye  could  desire.  Even  Henri  de  Blois, 
who  built  the  great  Bishop's  Castle,  would  have 
forgiven  his  iconoclastic  countrymen  who  destroyed 
.  it,  if  he  could  but  have  seen  how  charming  a  pic- 
ture it  made  under  the  soft  haze  of  that  August 
afternoon.  Unquestionably  the  bishops  made  the 
best  builders ;  but  Cromwell's  troops  made  the 
best  ruin-makers,  ,-and  I  am  not  quite  sure  that, 
in  the  end,  the  ruins  of  a  country  do  not  become 
even  more  famous  than  its  buildings.  A  ruin  is 
an  appeal  to  the  least  gifted,  architecturally,  to  do 
a  little  building  on  their  own  account. 

With  the  ruins,  our  discoveries  had   not  come 
12 


178  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

to  an  end.  Just  beyond  them,  a  fine  square  tower 
amid  a  mass  of  foliage  began  to  grow  nearer  and 
nearer.  It  grew  also  more  beautiful.  A  few  steps 
farther  on,  and  we  saw  that  it  was  attached  to  a 
massive  old  Norman  church.  A  long  high  wall 
seemed  to  shut  it  off  from  the  surrounding  fields 
and  the  cluster  of  houses  immediately  about  us. 
Soon  we  discovered  a  fine  arched  gateway,  of  re- 
markable beauty,  with  a  square  octagonal  turret, 
which  we  had  no  hesitation  in  approaching,  since 
the  door  stood  invitingly  open.  Having  passed 
within  the  portal,  we  found  ourselves  in  a  small 
quadrangle,  whence  issued  a  porter  with  a  black 
hat  and  a  demand  for  sixpence  apiece.  To  our 
inquiries  as  to  where  we  were  to  go,  after  having 
crossed  his  hand  with  the  required  stipend,  he 
waved  us  towards  another  gateway.  Here  we 
stepped  into  a  larger  quadrangle,  within  whose 
broad  space  was  a  group  of  wonderful  buildings. 
Directly  in  front  was  the  church,  whose  tower 
had  led  us  hither.  At  the  right  a  row  of  the 
quaintest,  primmest,  whitest,  neatest  little  houses 
formed  two  sides  of  the  angle  of  the  bright  green 
square  of  grass-plot  that  made  a  dazzling  spot  of 
brightness   in  the   midst  of  the  open  court.     In 


A    COLLEGE  AND  AN  ALMSHOUSE.         179 

front  of  each  house  was  a  gay  little  garden,  and  up 
the  facade  of  each  house-front  ran  a  tall  straight 
chimney.  It  was  so  entirely  obvious  that  there 
being  just  so  many  chimneys,  so  many  gardens, 
and  so  many  little  houses  concealed  some  intention 
in  the  mind  of  the  builder  and  designer,  that  1 
proceeded  at  once  to  count  them.  There  were  just 
thirteen. 

"  I  know  what  this  place  is,"  I  cried,  in  the  de- 
light of  my  discovery,  "  It  is  St.  Cross.  Those 
are  the  thirteen  houses  of  the  thirteen  old  brethren, 
and  this  is  their  church;  and  —  and  there  comes 
one  of  the  old  men  out  to  meet  us."  For  a  gray- 
haired  upright  old  gentleman  had  appeared  all  at 
once  in  one  of  the  doorways  of  the  little  houses. 
He  wore  a  black  gown  with  a  silver  cross  on  his 
breast,  and  that  we  both  knew  to  be  the  dress  of 
the  St.  Cross  Brethren. 

We  had  been  reading  only  the  day  before  of  this 
beautiful  old  charity,  one  of  the  oldest  and  most 
famed  in  England, — how  that  Henri  de  Blois,  in 
the  midst  of  his  fighting  and  palace-building,  had 
found  time  to  think  of  the  poor  and  the  aged.  He 
founded  St.  Cross,  in  1136,  as  a  hospital,  designed 
as  a  retreat  for  thirteen  old  men  who  were  unable 


180  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

to  furnish  means  for  their  own  support.  There 
were  to  be  also  daily  doles  for  many  who  resided 
outside  the  hospital.  Under  Cardinal  Beaufort, 
it  was  made  more  of  a  conventual  establish- 
ment. This  great  churchman  changed  its  name  to 
"  The  Almshouse  of  Noble  Poverty,"  and  added 
priors,  nuns,  and  brethren.  During  the  troublous 
period  of  the  Middle  Ages,  St.  Cross  was  enabled 
to  keep  its  endowments,  although  many  abuses 
crept  in.  Its  original  purpose  has  gradually  been 
restored,  however,  and  now  it  is  admirably  admin- 
istered by  trustees,  the  former  number  of  thirteen 
inmates  and  the  "  Wayfarer's  Dole  "  being  retained 
in  virtue  of  its  founder's  original  intention.  The 
brethren  come  from  all  parts  of  the  kingdom,  the 
only  eligibility  being  their  inability  to  earn  their 
own  livelihood. 

"  It  is  as  well,  assuredly,  that  the  number  is 
limited  to  thirteen.  If  inability  to  earn  one's  own 
livelihood  be  the  only  test,  the  hospital  would  other- 
wise be  as  crowded  as  a  Roman  amphitheatre. 
I  know  a  good  many  who  would  be  eligible.  I  am 
not  sure  that  I  myself  would  be  above  submitting 
my  failures  to  the  test,  if  I  could  end  my  days  in 
such  a  retreat,"  said  Boston,  as  we  had  strolled  out 


A   COLLEGE  AND  AN  ALMSHOUSE.         181 

to  meet  the  little  old  gentleman  who  was  coming 
towards  us. 

The  place  did,  indeed,  breathe  the  most  tranquil, 
peaceful,  unworldly  calm.  It  was  so  still  that  our 
footfalls  on  the  gravel  walk  made  resounding 
echoes.  It  was  so  neat,  so  bright,  so  exquisitely 
dainty,  with  its  clipped  lawns  and  trim  gardens 
and  spotless  houses,  that  one  became  insensibly 
possessed  with  the  longing  to  become  a  part  of 
the  noiseless,  spotless  purity. 

We  had  been  joined  by  our  old  gentleman, 
who  asked  us,  as  he  gave  us  a  beautiful  old-fash- 
ioned bow,  adorned  with  the  cheeriest  smile,  if  we 
wished  to  be  shown  about.  He  preceded  us,  after 
our  reply  in  the  affirmative,  with  so  brisk  and  firm 
a  step  that,  in  spite  of  his  silver  hair,  we  classed 
him  as  among  the  younger  members  of  the  little 
fraternity.  He  was  beautifully  erect,  with  such  a 
rich  blue  tinting  his  eye  as  bespoke  the  vigor  of 
his  health.  His  whole  personality  diffused  an  air 
of  singular  simplicity  and  contentment,  such  as 
only  cloistered  seclusion  appears  to  breed. 

Convents  and  institutions  create  a  distinct  type 
of  face  —  the  visage  of  those  who  live  untouched 
by  the  worry  of  the  world  and   remote   from   its 


182  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

activities.  It  was  such  a  face  as  this  that  this 
Brother  had.  It  was  serenely  cahn,  with  a  cliild- 
like  simplicity  and  credulity.  What  he  had  been 
when  he  was  an  actor  in  his  little  world's  drama, 
it  would  have  been  impossible  to  conjecture. 
Neither  his  troubles  nor  his  disappointments,  had 
he  ever  had  either,  had  left  their  mark  on  him. 
Even  the  memory  of  his  past  appeared  to  have 
been  left  behind,  with  his  relation  to  it.  Now  he 
was  only  a  Brother,  —  one  of  the  little  family  who 
receive  their  daily  bread  from  the  hand  of  charity, 
and  who,  in  taking  it,  have  parted  forever  from  the 
outer  world,  from  its  battles  and  its  contests. 

His  pride  in  the  fine  old  buildings  was  beautiful 
to  see.  It  was  with  an  air  of  most  satisfied  pro- 
prietorship that  he  pointed  out  the  chief  architectu- 
ral features  in  the  charming  group  of  quaint  and 
rare  structures  that  fronted  on  the  two  quadran- 
gles,—  the  church  on  the  left,  the  cloisters  leading 
from  it  to  the  gatehouse  above  the  former  nuns' 
old  chambers,  the  kneeling  figure  of  the  cardinal 
above  the  gate-arch,  and  the  charming  background 
made  by  the  great  trees  beyond  in  the  open  fields. 
Later  he  led  us  into  the  fine  old  hall  which  con- 
tains the  offices,  the  old  kitchen,  and  dining-hall. 


A   COLLEGE  AND  AN  ALMSHOUSE.        183 

His  pride  was  tempered  by  the  cheeriest  good- 
Jmmor  and  a  certain  boyish  light-hearted  gayety. 
A  little  fountain  of  inward  merriment  appeared  to 
be  perpetually  playing  within  ;  it  leaped  out  in  his 
kindly  old  eyes,  and  curved  the  sweet  wrinkled 
corners  of  his  fine  old  mouth.  He  grew  merry, 
indeed,  as  he  was  showing  us  the  old  kitchen,  its 
great  roasting-apparatus,  the  huge  spits,  and  the 
quaint  old  ovens.  To  our  inquiries  as  to  whether 
cooking  was  still  carried  on  here,  he  gave  a  gay 
little  laugh  as  he  answered, — 

"  Oh  yes,  indeed,  ma'am,  there  is  cookin'  still  done 
here.  We  have  hot  joints  four  times  a  week ;  an' 
on  those  big  spits  there  's  still  whole  sheep  roasted 
on  our  gaudy  days,  as  we  call  them." 

"  On  gaudy  days  ?  "  I  asked,  a  little  wonderingly. 

"  Yes,  on  festivals,  ma'am,  on  holidays  an'  the 
like,  —  on  Whitsuntide,  Michaelmas,  Easter  Sunday, 
and  other  great  days ;  these  are  our  gaudy  days. 
Then  we  eats  the  sheep,  all  together,  the  whole 
thirteen  on  us,  over  yonder  in  the  old  dining-room, 
just  to  keep  up  the  good  old  customs." 

The  dining-room,  which  we  entered  a  moment 
later,  retains  with  a  startling  degree  of  preserva- 
tion   its   mediaeval    character.      The   high-pitched 


184  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

timber  roof,  the  minstrels'  gallery,  the  upright 
little  stairway  leading  to  the  muniment  room  over- 
head, even  the  black  jacks  and  the  quaint  tall  and 
narrow  tables,  remain  to  impart  to  this  beautiful 
old  room  the  most  completely  fourteenth-century 
air  conceivable.  In  the  centre  of  the  room  the 
primitive  brick  fireplace  is  preserved,  with  its  iron 
railing.  The  brethren  still  make  a  fire  here  on 
those  famous  "  gaudy  days,"  of  a  kind  of  pre- 
pared wood,  instead  of  those  great  logs  that  for- 
merly burned  there,  that  blackened  the  room 
with  their  smoke,  and  turned  the  rafters  to  the 
deep  hue  which  still  makes  their  shadows  so  rich 
overhead.  Even  now  it  must  be  a  goodly  sight  to 
see  the  thirteen  gathered  here,  even  about  a  nine- 
teenth-century compromise  of  an  open  fire.  But 
the  picturesque  still  lies  in  the  dimmer  perspec- 
tives of  the  past,  when  a  group  of  muistrels  over- 
head, in  buff  jerkin  and  leathern  breeches,  breathed 
music  out  of  their  horns  and  quavering  flutes ;  when 
the  old  gentlemen  sat  at  the  deal  tables  yonder, 
while  a  rude  stone  lamp,  such  as  are  shown  us  in 
the  cases  now,  and  the  great  fire  blazing  away  on 
the  bricks,  filling  the  air  with  the  sweet  perfume 
of  burning  wood,  made  the  flaring  flickering  light ; 


A   COLLEGE  AND  AN  ALMSHOUSE.         185 

when  the  great  and  heavy  leathern  jacks  —  the 
beer  jugs  —  were  passed  from  one  shaking  old  hand 
to  another ;  and  as  the  fiddlers  took  up  the  jig 
measure,  one  can  fancy  the  feeble,  cheery  old  song 
that  broke  forth  as  the  little  company  of  jolly  old 
brethren  filled  their  glasses  anew  and  drank  to 
the  health  of  the  oldest. 

Tlie  guide-books  and  the  reference-books  on 
architecture  will  tell  you  that  the  church  of  St. 
Cross  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  of  the  style 
known  as  the  transition-Norman,  although  it  also 
possesses  several  Early  English  and  Decorated 
features  of  unusual  beauty  and  distinction.  The 
first  impression  is  certainly  less  Norman  in  charac- 
ter than  early  Gothic ;  for  the  nave,  which  dates 
from  the  twelfth  century,  with  its  remarkably 
massive  columns  and  heavy  pointed  archings, 
belongs  among  the  most  admirable  specimens  of 
Early  English  work.  The  choir  is  a  superb  ex- 
ample of  transition-Norman,  with  exquisite  zigzag 
mouldings,  and  is  further  enriched  now  by  the 
polychrome  decorations  which  were  intrusted  to 
Mr.  Butterfield.  This  decoration  is  as  exact  a 
reproduction  of  the  old  work  (all  church  interi- 
ors being  profusely  decorated  and  colored  by  the 


186  CATHEDRAL  DAYS, 

mediagval  architects)  as  it  was  possible  to  make 
it.  Some  faint  bits  of  the  older  work  are  still  to 
be  traced  over  one  or  two  of  the  arches  and  along 
the.  mouldings.  The  new  painting  produces  very 
brilliant  and  rich  effects.  At  the  first,  indeed, 
one  is  impressed  with  the  sense  that  it  is  all  a 
little  too  brilliant,  the  strong  colors  interfering 
with  the  effect  of  the  simple  massive  richness 
of  the  architectural  details — a  gaiety  that  offends, 
so  to  speak.  Doubtless  time  will  soften  these 
rather  too  intense  purples,  reds,  and  blues,  and 
fuse  their  now  somewliat  obtrusive  garishness  into 
a  more  complete  harmony  with  the  architectural 
ensemble. 

With  an  air  of  its  being  a  personal  grievance, 
our  conductor  pointed  to  the  vacancies  left  in  the 
floor  and  on  the  walls  by  the  stolen  brasses,  and 
also  referred  in  a  melancholy  tone  to  the  fact  that 
all  the  glass  was  modern.  While  the  nineteenth 
century  cannot  hope  satisfactorily  to  replace  the 
beautiful  old  brass-work,  the  fine  memorial  win- 
dows in  this  perfect  little  church  prove  that  the 
old  art  of  glass-making  is  not  wholly  a  lost  one. 
They  were  very  beautiful  in  color,  and  equally 
strong:  in  design. 


A   COLLEGE  AND  AN  ALMSHOUSE.        187 

We  liad  gone  to  the  rear  of  tlie  church  to  look 
out  upon  the  fields  and  the  noble  trees.  As  we 
stood  for  a  moment,  our  eyes  resting  on  the  tran- 
quil rich  pasture-lands,  and  the  admirable  group- 
ing of  the  buildings  behind  us  defined  against  the 
sky-line,  a  man  crossed  the  lawn  within  the  quad- 
rangle. It  was  a  beggar  with  a  pack  on  his  back. 
He  was  turning  towards  the  porter's  lodge. 

"  Is  he  going  for  the  dole  ? "  Boston  asked  our 
little  old  gentleman,  who  was  placidly  eying  him 
out  of  the  corner  of  his  kindly  blue  eye. 

"  Oh  yes,  sir,  that 's  what  he 's  come  for." 

"Are  they  always  the  same  beggars,  the  same 
wayfarers  —  or  are  they  sometimes  genuine  ? " 

"  Well,  sir,"  the  brother  replied,  with  a  little  rip- 
ple of  laughter,  "  some  does  come  every  day  in  the 
summer-times ;  but  for  the  most  part  it 's  poor 
men  going  along  the  road  who  stops  for  the  beer 
and  the  bread.  Many  of  them  comes  a  long  ways 
out  of  their  road  to  get  it ;  it 's  known,  you  know, 
sir,  and  my  good  lady,  all  over  the  kingdom." 

In  his  character  of  wayfarer,  Boston  concluded 
that  he  also  must  test  the  quality  of  the  hospital 
beer.  He  declared  it  excellent,  and  avowed  him- 
self quite  ready  for  a  second   glass.     The   porter 


188  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

and  the  brother  both  laughed,  the  former  saying 
that  even  the  Prince  of  Wales  himself  could  not  be 
given  double  measure.  The  porter  further  hastened 
to  assure  Boston  that  that  particular  mug  was  the 
one  from  which  his  Royal  Highness  had  drunk  on 
his  recent  visit  to  the  hospital ;  at  which  excellent 
invention  the  old  brother  kept  an  unmoved  face. 

A  few  seconds  later  he  had  bloomed  into  his 
habitual  wreath  of  smiles,  as  he  bade  us  farewell, 
when  Boston  had  left  a  bit  of  shining  silver  in  his 
pink  old  hand.  He  stood,  hat  in  hand,  under  the 
great  archway,  bowing  us  out,  his  black  gown  mak- 
ing a  dark  mass  of  color  against  the  bit  of  sky  that 
was  framed  in  the  arch.  His  kindly,  smiling  old 
face  seemed  the  epitome  of  the  content,  the  peace, 
and  the  calm  that  make  this  hospital  one's  ideal 
of  a  home  for  sheltered  old  age. 

"  What  a  place  for  them  to  do  their  dying  in ! " 

"  Has  n't  it  seemed  to  you  as  if  we  had  strayed 
into  a  little  paradise  of  noiseless,  restful  calm  ? 
It's  like  a  bit  out  of  some  other  planet,  before 
worry  or  dust  or  nerves  were  invented." 

"  Or  dying,  you  might  add ;  for  it  appears  they 
live  forever.  The  porter  told  me  that  very  few  die, 
before  reaching  the  nineties.     One  of  them,  who  is 


A   COLLEGE  AND  AN  ALMSHOUSE.         189 

still  alive,  has  been  here  over  forty  years,  and  as 
yet  gives  no  hint  of  dying." 

"  Why  should  he  ?  I  would  n't  if  I  were  he.  I 
presume  if  none  of  us  ever  did  anything  in  particu- 
lar except  to  make  a  business  of  growing  as  old  as 
possible,  we  should  no  doubt  find  it  beset  with  diffi- 
culty. It  is  n't  so  easy  as  one  thinks  to  die  just 
when  it  is  expected  one  should." 

"  Well,  it  appears  these  old  gentlemen  surmount 
the  difficulty  by  dying  as  infrequently  as  possible. 
And  now  which  way  home  ?  " 

"  By  the  river,  by  all  means,  and  then  we  can 
face  the  city  and  the  sunset." 

We  journeyed  towards  a  golden  city,  through 
golden  fields,  under  a  golden  tinted  sky.  Even 
the  river  had  changed  to  a  rich  amber.  Each  blade 
of  grass  in  the  dying  sunlight  looked  like  a  golden 
dagger  freshly  unsheathed,  and  the  trees  appeared 
to  have  absorbed  the  tinted  light  into  their  re- 
motest depths  of  shade.  No  hour,  I  think,  reveals 
the  splendid  luxuriance  and  perfection  of  English 
foliage  and  verdure  as  does  the  short  —  th-e  all  too 
short  —  golden  sunset,  which,  like  a  torch,  lights  up 
for  one  brilliant  glorious  moment  into  fullest  splen- 
dor the  riches  of  English  efflorescence. 


190  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

HURSLEY  AND  ROMSEY  ABBEY. 

T  T  was  on  tlie  afternoon  of  the  following  day  that 
Ballad  trotted  up  the  steep  hill  of  High  Street 
at  a  brisk  speed,  passed  under  the  great  gateway, 
and  hurried  us  away  from  the  beautiful  old  city. 
Of  the  three,  Ballad  was  the  only  one  who  carried 
a  liglit  heart  and  a  merry  spirit  out  of  the  city. 
Evidently  the  Winchester  oats  had  been  of  an  ex- 
cellent quality.  Both  Boston  and  I  were  under 
the  influence  of  so  poignant  a  regret  that  only  the 
importance  of  a  mail  which  had  been  telegraphed 
to  meet  us  at  Salisbury  on  the  following  morning 
could  have  had  the  power  to  force  this  decision 
of  leaving  on  us.  Soon,  however,  the  fresh  sweet 
air,  the  stretch  of  wide  horizons,  and  the  sense  of 
that  quickened,  more  vivid  life  which  the  excite- 
ment of  going  forth  to  meet  new  scenes  awakens, 
stirred  our  pulses  into  more  responsive  pleasure. 
If  one  is  forced  to  leave  a  city  which  one  has 


HURSLEY  AND  ROMSEY  ABBEY.  191 

grown  to  love,  to  be  able  to  view  it  again  and  again 
from  some  commanding  height  tempers  at  least 
the  poignancy  of  the  parting.  It  is  like  the  sweet- 
ened grief  of  holding  a  dear  face  between  one's 
palms  and  scanning  each  feature  anew  before  the 
wrench  comes.  Winchester,  as  we  rose  along  the 
crest  of  the  hill  behind  the  city,  appeared  to 
us  this  last  half-hour  in  a  series  of  dissolving 
views.  As  the  hills  grew  steeper,  the  proportions 
of  the  wonderful  old  city  seemed  to  shrink  away, 
leaving  only  its  nobler  and  more  stupendous  feat- 
ures to  rise  into  a  worthy  rival  ship  with  the  en- 
compassing hills.  The  huge,  uplifted  mass  of  the 
cathedral,  as  we  looked  down  upon  it  through  a 
green  valley  of  curving  fields,  seemed  not  unlike 
some  mountain  in  stone  carved  by  those  master 
architects,  the  storm  and  the  tempest.  The  houses 
near  it  were  dwarfed  to  the  proportion  of  huts. 
It  was  a  prospect  that  led  us  to  reflect  that  such 
indeed  had  been,  in  the  disproportionate  mediaeval 
days,  the  true  relation  existing  between  the  Church 
and  the  world,  when  the  former  looked  down  upon 
mortals  only  in  the  light  of  so  much  material  for 
the  furnishing  of  the  necessary  pence  with  which 
to  rear  its  temple  of  holy  scorn. 


192  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

Ballad,  not  being  given  to  philosophic  reflections, 
took  a  much  less  sentimental  view  of  the  hills. 
They  were,  in  truth,  seemingly  unending.  It  had 
been  one  long  continuous  climb  from  the  courtyard 
of  the  "  White  Swan  "  up  to  this  breezy  eminence, 
at  least  two  miles  distant  from  the  city  gateway. 
Among  the  admirable  qualities  which  we  had 
grown  to  admire  in  Ballad  was  his  talent  for 
remembering  a  promise.  They  were,  it  is  true, 
always  promises  which,  in  moments  of  weakness, 
we  had  made  to  him.  But  his  tenacious  memory 
of  tlie  same  pleased  us,  as  proving  the  extent  and 
variety  of  his  capacities.  It  was  in  virtue  of  a 
covenant  we  had  entered  into  along  some  of  the 
longer  Fareham  hills,  to  the  effect  that  we  should 
walk  up  the  longest  and  the  steepest  ascents,  that 
now,  with  tlie  most  confiding  faith  in  our  honor, 
he  appealed  to  us  to  redeem  those  pledges.  He 
stopped  again  and  again,  turning  his  deep  brown 
glance  backward  upon  us,  speaking,  as  only  dumb 
brutes  can,  with  mute  but  eloquent  entreaty.  I, 
for  one,  could  resist  no  longer. 

Boston  soon  joined  me  along  the  roadside, 
swinging  himself  out  of  the  low  box-seat.  But 
Ballad's  demands  did  not  cease  with  having  merely 


HURSLEY  AND  ROMSEY  ABBEY.  193 

forced  us  to  lighten  his  load.  He  possessed  those 
refinements  of  taste  which  characterize  every  true 
walker.  First  of  all,  he  loved  companionship.  He 
loved  best  to  have  one  of  us  on  either  side,  so 
close  that  the  tip  of  his  forehead  or  his  long  nose 
touched  our  elbow  as  he  plodded  along.  Neither 
was  he  adverse  to  more  caressive  advances,  when 
either  one  of  us,  with  an  arm  about  his  glossy 
neck,  would  the  better  keep  pace  with  his  long, 
swinging  gait.  If  we  stopped  to  examine  the  land- 
scape, he  improved  the  moment  to  test  the  quality 
of  the  roadside  grass.  But  he  was  rather  a  gour- 
met than  a  gourmand ;  one  succulent  taste  of  the 
good  roadside  fare  appeared  to  satisfy  his  delicate 
but  fastidious  palate.  The  length  of  such  a  meal 
was  the  most  flattering  proof  we  needed  to  assure 
us  of  the  richness  of  the  soil. 

It  was  in  such  amity  of  friendly  companionship 
that  we  all  three  toiled  up  the  steep  Winchester 
hills.  Once  at  the  top,  however,  of  the  steepest, 
and  the  splendid  prospect  made  us  stay  our  steps. 
Far  as  the  eye  could  reach  the  country  stretched 
itself  out  like  an  unrolled  carpet  at  our  feet.  Hills 
dipped  into  valleys  only  to  rise  again  into  hills,  till 

they  and  the  far  edges  of  the  horizon  were  merged 

13 


194  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

into  one  indistinguishable  blue.  There  were  sev- 
eral miles  of  driving  with  this  great  prospect  be- 
fore us,  changing  in  some  of  the  nearer  details, 
but  the  vast  panoramic  aspect  remaining  the  same. 
The  county  of  Hampshire  appeared  to  lie  beneath 
and  out  beyond  us,  as  if,  like  some  conscious 
beauty,  she  were  bent  on  displaying  her  charms  on 
this  last  day  of  our  drive  among  her  hills. 

Hampshire  is  hilly,  as  Sussex  is  rolling.  She  is 
a  wild  beauty,  with  a  touch  of  unkempt  disordered 
loveliness  about  her,  strange  enough  to  find  among 
these  Southern  counties.  Our  journey  through  the 
heart  of  her  forest  and  in  among  her  rude  hillside- 
villages  was  a  revelation  of  the  store  of  surprises 
reserved  for  those  who  seek  them  out  in  this  com- 
pact and  wonderful  little  island.  Here  was  a  bit 
of  country  almost  as  wild  as  some  parts  of  our  own 
transatlantic  continent.  Instead  of  the  park-like 
meadows  of  the  Surrey  downs,  their  trim  gar- 
den finish,  their  sleek  parterre  perfections,  these 
hills  and  fields  had  a  touch  of  nature's  more 
abandoned  freedom.  The  trees  were  true  moun- 
taineers, growing  on  perilous  heights  or  where 
best  it  pleased  them,  that  they  might  prove  their 
hardihood  in  facing  the  elements. 


EURSLEY  AND  ROMSEY  ABBEY.  195 

Of  course,  wild  as  was  the  aspect  of  the  country, 
there  were  still  hedge-rows,  or  it  would  not  have 
been  England.  A  roadway  without  hedge-rows, 
from  an  Englishman's  point  of  view,  is  only  con- 
ceivable in  a  country  whose  government  is  either 
unconstitutional  or  in  sad  want  of  political  repair. 

These  upland  Hampshire  hedges  were  quite 
unobjectionable.  They  were  charming  in  their 
reckless  disorder.  They  strewed  the  grassy  road- 
side, in  their  gay  abandonment,  with  the  loose 
petals  of  the  wild  white  rose  and  the  honeysuckle. 
Their  dense  shade  was  the  home  of  the  robin.  We 
startled  one  of  these  crimson-liveried  gentlemen  as 
we  leaned  over  the  top  of  a  particularly  odorous 
hedge  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  little  old  farmhouse 
perched  on  the  edge  of  a  tiny  precipice.  We  star- 
tled the  robin,  but  we  had  very  little  effect  on  the 
musician.  He  had  begun  his  song  amid  the  honey- 
suckle. Finding  himself  in  good  voice,  he  contin- 
ued his  roulades.)  when  we  came  to  disturb  his 
serenade  to  their  perfume.  A  shower  of  thrilling 
notes  descended  as  he  whirled  himself  into  the 
upper  skies.  It  was  the  revenge  of  the  musician 
in  showing  us  how  easily  he  could  wing  himself 
into  aerial  spheres. 


196  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

His  song  accentuated  the  stillness,  the  abso- 
lute quiet,  and  the  forest-like  remoteness.  There 
was  not  a  sound  except  the  nibbling  of  Ballad  in 
among  the  grasses,  those  now  sky-distant  robin- 
notes,  and  the  crackling  amid  the  trees  made  by 
unseen  insects  or  squirrels.  It  was  such  a  mo- 
ment as  lingers  afterward  in  the  memory  with 
the  resonance  of  a  full  rich  chord. 

In  the  midst  of  the  hills  was  an  ideal  little 
rustic.  We  had  been  driving  for  several  miles 
without  having  seen  even  so  remote  a  sign  of 
civilization  as  a  distant  church-spire.  But  at  the 
bottom  of  a  series  of  hills  we  drove  straight  into  a 
little  village  which  might  have  posed  as  the  nymph 
of  the  woodlands.  It  was  Hursley,  a  village  with 
as  wild  a  grace  as  the  roses  which  covered  its 
gabled  and  thatched  old  houses.  Almost  at  the 
entrance  of  its  wide  straggling  little  street  was  set 
a  beautiful  ivy-grown  church.  Its  round  Saxon- 
headed  windows  told  its  age  and  history.  Our 
guide-book  had  already  furnished  us  with  the  se- 
cret which  explained  its  admirable  and  perfect 
state  of  preservation.  The  pious  John  Keble  was 
vicar  here  for  many  years,  and  generously  gave  the 
money  derived  from  the  "  Christian  Year  "  for  its 


UURSLEY  AND  ROMSEY  ABBEY.  197 

restoration.  There  were  some  admirable  brass  tab- 
lets to  be  seen  in  the  church,  erected  to  the  memory 
of  his  wife  and  himself,  as  well  as  an  interesting 
monument  to  Richard  Cromwell.  But  we  did  not 
stop  to  enter,  as  tlie  congregation  were  just  about 
dispersing;  for  it  was  Sunday,  the  first  of  our 
drives  on  that  day. 

No  time  could  have  been  chosen  to  see  this 
bit  of  English  rustic  life  to  better  advantage. 
The  little  congregation,  as  it  came  slowly  forth  in 
groups  of  twos  and  threes  from  beneath  the  low 
church  portal,  stood  about  on  the  green,  or  wan- 
dered quietly  up  the  village  street  into  the  open 
doors  of  the  thatched  vine-covered  houses.  It  was 
strange  to  see  the  attempts  at  London  fashions  in 
the  women's  dressing  as  they  walked  along  the 
little  rural  street;  they  were  the  London  fashions 
of  several  seasons  ago,  so  that  their  modernness 
was  not  too  startling.  The  men  had  the  loolc  of 
discomfort  and  awkwardness  common  to  the  sex 
when  wearing  their  Sunday  broadcloth;  some  of 
the  older  farmers,  however,  wore  their  corduroys 
and  faded  pink  and  yellow  vests  and  great  neckties, 
in  defiance  of  the  modern  modes.  In  spite  of  tlie 
freshness  and  fairness  of  the  younger  women,  it 


198  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

was  these  latter  —  these  fine,  vigorous,  sunburnt, 
last-century  faces  among  the  old  farmers  —  who 
bore  off  the  palm  of  beauty.  Some  among  them 
were  superb  types  of  English  strength  of  build 
and  sturdy  mould  of  feature.  There  was  hardly 
a  weak  face  among  them.  But  strong  and  robust 
as  was  their  general  aspect,  these  farmers  had  a 
look  peculiar,  I  think,  to  an  English  farmer.  It 
was  the  look  of  mingled  simplicity,  honesty,  and 
peacefulness,  which  no  French,  German,  or  Ameri- 
can agriculturist  ever  successfully  combines.  It 
is  such  an  expression  as  can  only  come  from  long 
descent  and  heredity,  —  from  men  who  for  gen- 
erations have  lived  on  the  same  soil,  have  thought 
the  same  thoughts,  have  had  the  same  simple 
ambitions,  and  yet  whose  intelligence  has  been  of 
an  order  which  enabled  them  to  take  an  active 
personal  interest  in  their  contemporaneous  political 
surroundings.  The  French  farmer,  if  he  be  intelli- 
gent, is  too  shrewd  to  be  simple ;  the  German  is 
too  stolid  to  be  intelligent ;  it  is  only  the  English 
yeomanry  who  are  at  once  industrious,  intelligent, 
and  still  rurally  simple. 

The  younger  men,  we  noticed,  accompanied  their 
wives  to  the  cottage  or  the  farmhouse  doors.    They 


EVRSLEY  AND  ROMSEY  ABBEY.  199 

picked  up  a  child  or  two  who  had  run  out  to  meet 
them  to  joy  in  the  unwonted  Sunday  delight  of  in- 
dulging in  the  happiness  of  a  father  and  the  sport 
of  being  trundled  by  strong  arms.  But  the  older 
men  passed  on  farther  down  the  street,  with  a 
group  of  younger  lads,  embryonic  young  men,  at 
their  heels.  These  turned  with  simultaneous  ac- 
cord into  a  little  tavern  at  the  farthest  extremity 
of  the  village,  —  as  far  as  possible  from  the  church 
at  the  other  end  and  the  omniscience  of  the  vicar's 
eye,  we  said  to  each  other.  They  took  their  seats 
about  the  long  narrow  tables  in  the  little  inn.  The 
orders  for  the  evening  toddy  were  given  audibly 
enough  for  us  to  hear  as  we  stood  without  in  the 
courtyard;  for  Ballad  had  not  been  proof  against 
this  example  of  profane  Sabbath-breaking.  He 
had  walked  deliberately  up  to  the  village  trough, 
and  had  drained  its  contents.  It  was  presumably, 
also,  purely  in  the  interests  of  his  character  as  a 
student  of  rustic  habits  and  customs,  that  Boston 
was  suddenly  inspired  to  swing  himself  off  the  box- 
seat  and  to  declare  that  he  was  consumed  with  the 
prevailing  thirst.  The  noise  within  the  little  tav- 
ern stopped  for  a  brief  moment  as  he  stepped  into 
the  low  room ;  but  the  strong  rough  voices  broke 


200  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

out  again  a  moment  later.  Only  seven  of  the  tap- 
sters followed  Boston  to  the  door  to  look  inquisi- 
tively at  our  trap.  Ballad  was  evidently  an  un- 
known acquaintance,  although  each  farmer  did  his 
best  to  identify  him. 

"  'Ee  's  frame  Winchester,  I  tell  'ee." 

"  Naw,  'ee 's  naw  frame  Winchester ;  'ee 's  frame 
deown  yander,  frame  Salisbury." 

"Naw,  mon,  'ee's  cum  naw  so  fur;  'ee 's  frame 
Winchester." 

"  You  're  all  wrong,  —  all  of  you ;  he  's  from  Chi- 
chester," I  called  back  at  them,  as  we  drove  off  with 
a  dash.  It  was  sport  to  see  them  scatter  like  af- 
frighted geese,  and  fun  to  hear  the  mocking  laugh- 
ter of  the  men  within,  which  greeted  the  astonished 
questioners  as  they  ran  back  into  the  inner  tap-room. 

The  discovery  of  two  or  three  lawn  gowns  and 
smart  bonnets,  each  attended  by  a  village  swain, 
in  among  the  adjacent  fields  and  woods,  was  proof 
that  not  all  the  Hursley  males  were  left  behind  in 
the  tap-room.  These  more  sentimental  villagers 
were  employing  this  classical  courting-hour  in  the 
useful  purpose  of  inducing  their  lady-loves,  doubt- 
less, to  be  the  presiding  rustic  divinities  of  their 
hearts   and  homes.     These,   once   safely   insured. 


HURSLEY  AND  ROUSE Y  ABBEY.  201 

could  then  comfortably  be  left  for  the  tavern.  It 
is  a  law  of  sequence  not  wholly  unpractised  among 
what  we  are  pleased  to  call  the  upper  classes. 

The  road  to  Romsey,  the  little  town  where  we 
were  to  sup  and  rest  ere  we  pressed  on  to  Salis- 
bury, was  almost  as  picturesquely  wild  as  that  part 
of  it  which  had  led  us  to  Hursley.  The  prospect 
was,  however,  not  nearly  so  large  and  open.  The 
dense  shade  of  the  woodlands  made  the  views  of 
the  outlying  country  less  frequent.  The  breaks 
in  the  thick  foliage  only  served  to  make  such 
glimpses  the  more  interesting  and  admirable. 

There  were  five  miles  more  of  delightful  driving 
through  the  woods,  past  the  hedges  and  the  quiet 
grassy  slopes,  and  we  were  rattling  over  the  cobble- 
paved  streets  of  Romsey. 

We  count  Romsey  as  among  the  discoveries  of 
our  trip.  We  had  only  been  told  so  much  of  the 
charms  of  the  little  town  as  that  it  contained  an 
excellent  inn  where  we  could  break  our  fast,  and 
that  near  it  was  Lord  Palmerston's  beautiful  seat 
of  Broadlands.  But  it  is  due  to  neither  of  these 
attractions  that  Romsey  remains  to  us  among  the 
most  perfect  and  complete  of  the  little  towns  we 
encountered  on  this  charming  tour. 


202  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

The  pearl  of  our  discovery  lay  in  the  fact  that 
Romsey  boasts  of  an  abbey,  which  from  its  beauty 
and  its  unique  architectural  features  should  be 
counted  as  among  the  chief  architectural  Mec- 
cas  of  all  lovers  of  fine  and  rare  old  Norman 
work.  We  classed  ourselves  amongst  such  lovers ; 
yet  it  was  only  by  a  happy  accident  that  we 
made  the  discovery  of  Romsey  Abbey's  surpassing 
beauties. 

TVe  owe  our  seeing  it  at  all  to  the  landlady  of 
tlie  "  Deer  Hound."  She  had  stepped  out  to  meet 
us  as  we  drove  in  under  her  cosey  little  brick  court- 
yard. After  greeting  us  with  a  courtesy  which  was 
almost  formidable  in  its  ceremoniousness,  owing  to 
the  emphasis  of  her  large  and  somewhat  obese  per- 
son, she  ordered  the  hostler  to  unstrap  the  luggage. 
We  protested,  explaining  that  we  had  stopped  only 
for  supper  and  to  water  our  horse.  Had  1  foreseen 
how  keen  her  disappointment  would  be,  I  fear  I 
should  have  weakly  yielded  and  have  stopped  over 
night ;  but  she  rallied  almost  instantly. 

"Ho,  very  well,  sir,  we'll  try  to  make  you 
as  comfortable  has  possible,  although  most  every 
one  stops,  has  they  all  goes  to  see  the  habbey. 
You'll  go  to   see  it,   sir;  it's   the   finest  church 


nURSLEY  AND  ROMSEY  ABBEY.  203 

in  Hingland,  an'  I  '11  make  the  lady  a  nice  cup 
of  tea  while  the  gentleman  steps  over  and  rings 
for  the  verger ;  he 's  opposite,  an'  '11  show  you 
everything." 

Her  garrulousness  was  too  good-natured  to  be 
resented,  although  a  trifle  overpowering.  Boston 
broke  the  torrent  of  her  talk  by  retreating  under 
cover  of  an  excuse  for  looking  after  Ballad ;  but 
he  did  not  escape  without  binding  himself  to  look 
up  the  verger.  She  then  preceded  me  up  a  creak- 
ing winding  flight  of  worn  steps,  leading  me  into  a 
large  upper  room  evidently  used  as  the  inn  coffee- 
room.  She  lost  not  a  moment  in  placing  me  in  a 
chair,  in  pouring  the  water  into  the  kettle,  in  giv- 
ing a  multitude  of  orders  to  a  sweet,  fresh-looking 
country-girl  who  obeyed  them  in  silence,  all  the 
while  continuing  one  of  the  longest,  most  endless, 
wandering,  and  inconsequent  monologues  it  has 
ever  been  my  punishment  as  a  listener  to  endure. 
Yet  she  was  well  versed  in  the  history  of  her  native 
town,  and  she  gave  me  a  not  uninteresting  though 
somewhat  discursive  synopsis  of  its  existence. 

The  tea  equalled  her  promise  of  its  excellence. 
I  sat  and  sipped  it  as  the  stream  of  her  talk  poured 
on.     The  room  was  fine  and  large,  with  rich  old 


204  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

mahogany  cupboards  and  buffets,  high  straight- 
backed  chairs,  and  a  mantelpiece  with  some  lovely 
old  Tudor  carvings.  Its  ample  proportions  and  air 
of  prosperous  antiquity  matched  well  with  the 
appearance  of  its  owner,  whose  generous  outlines, 
dimpled  rosy  cheeks,  and  glittering  gold  chain  bore 
evidence  to  the  successful  business  done  at  the 
"  Deer  Hound."  Her  father  had  kept  it  before 
her,  she  said.  And  did  I  know  how  old  the  old 
house  was  ?  Almost  as  old  as  Romsey  itself,  and 
the  town  dated  back  to  Alfred  the  Great.  For  the 
"habbey"was  built  by  Edward  his  son,  as  a 
convent,  and  the  Nuns'  Garden  was  still  shown, 
and  the  Nuns'  Door.  The  convent  had  been  a  rich 
one  in  its  day,  but  all  that  had  gone  with  popery, 
and  now  it  was  only  the  parish  church.  And  we 
must  look  in  the  choir  for  the  tombs  and  monu- 
ments of  the  Saint  Barbes,  the  original  owners  of 
Broadlands,  and  for  the  splendid  windows  put  up 
iu  honor  of  the  great  Prime  Minister,  and  also  for 
the  tomb  of  Sir  William  Petty,  who  had  been  the 
son  of  a  Romsey  clothier,  but  who  was  also  the 
ancestor  of  the  great  Lansdowne  family. 

"  An'   you   must   see  the   cloisters,  —  or  rather 
where  they  was,  for  there  ain't  no  trace  of   them 


HURSLEY  AND  ROMSEY  ABBEY.  205 

left,  —  an'  you  must  see  the  nun's  'air ;  it 's  the 
beautifuUest  an'  the  loveliest  color  —  an'  now 
there 's  your  good  gentleman  and  the  verger,  an' 
mind  you  ask  him  for  to  show  you  the  nun's 
'air." 

I  joined  the  "good  gentleman"  and  the  verger 
at  the  bottom  of  the  creaking  flight  of  steps.  We 
proceeded  at  once,  without  further  delay,  to  thread 
our  way  through  the  streets  of  the  silent  little 
town  to  the  abbey.  The  silence  had  a  drowsy, 
brooding  quiet  in  its  stillness,  as  if  centuries  ago 
there  had  been  a  lively  stirring  time  among  these 
quaint  sad-faced  streets,  and  ever  since  the  little 
town  had  lived  on  the  memory  of  it  all.  Not  a 
soul  was  astir;  not  a  footfall  save  our  own  re- 
sounded on  the  clean  cobble  pavements,  and  no 
voices  save  ours  broke  the  silence,  which  might 
have  been  under  the  spell  of  a  charm,  so  complete 
and  so  profound  was  its  slumber. 

This  drowsy  quiet  may  perhaps  have  served  to 
enhance  the  effect  which  the  striking  unmodern- 
ness  of  the  abbey  produced.  It  needed  this  em- 
phasis of  unreality,  this  suggestion  of  a  shadowy, 
dim,  and  hazy  remoteness,  to  touch  us  with  its 
wand  of  illusion,  and  prepare  us  for  the  surprise 


206  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

which  the  strange  and  yet  lovely  structure  was  to 
produce.  The  surprise  lay  in  the  abbey  being  at 
once  so  venerable  and  yet  in  such  a  perfect  con- 
dition of  preservation.  The  discolorations  on  its 
fagades,  the  mosses,  the  leaflets,  and  the  few  wild- 
flowers  which  had  intrusted  their  delicate  existence 
to  the  few  inches  of  earth  along  the  cornices  and  in 
among  the  window-ledges,  were  trustworthy  proofs 
that  there  had  been  no  modern  renovations.  Yet 
with  the  exception  of  some  traces  of  crumbling  and 
decay  in  the  toothwork  over  the  beautiful  arched 
doorways,  the  fissures  and  the  rain-stains,  the 
grand  old  church  must  have  presented  the  same 
appearance  to  its  Norman  builders  that  it  did  to  us 
on  that  still,  sunny  August  Sunday.  The  interior 
we  found  no  less  exquisitely  beautiful.  I  use  the 
word  exquisite  witli  deliberation,  and  chiefly  because 
no  other  word  would  so  well  describe  the  delicacy, 
the  high  degree  of  finish,  and  the  supreme  elegance 
of  this  wonderful  interior.  The  style  is  Norman, 
but  it  is  the  Norman  of  that  later,  more  refined 
period  when  the  natural  elegance  and  taste  of  the 
Norman  builders  had  come  to  demand  something 
more  than  strength  from  their  rounded  arches  and 
a  more  ideal  massiveness  from  their   structural 


RoMSEY  Abbey,  Transept  and  Nave. 


Page  206. 


HURSLEY  AND  ROMSEY  ABBEY.  207 

solidity.  Here  each  archway,  each  string-course, 
and  each  cornice  had  been  made  to  bloom  under  the 
inspired  chisel  into  rhythmic  waves  of  ornament,  — 
that  wise  linear  restraint  which  preceded  the  mo- 
ment when  the  poetry  of  tracery  was  to  break  forth 
into  the  efflorescence  of  the  Gothic. 

Grace  had  been  the  guiding  divinity  of  the  archi- 
tect's inspiration,  until  the  grandeur  of  the  Norman 
had  been  transformed  into  something  of  that  soar- 
ing quality  of  lightness  we  are  wont  to  associate 
with  the  later  Gothic.  The  eye  wanders  in  enrap- 
tured ecstasy  over  these  towering  arches,  up  into 
the  rare  and  original  two-arched  triforium,  and 
down  the  shadowy  length  of  the  noble  little  nave. 
It  is  the  most  triumphant  union  conceivable  of 
grace  and  strength. 

The  verger  was  at  infinite  pains  to  explain  to  us 
at  just  what  precise  points  in  the  transept,  the 
choir,  or  the  nave  the  Norman  became  transition, 
or  the  latter  changed  into  early  English.  But  it 
was  the  admirable  harmony  and  beauty  of  the 
interior  as  a  whole  which  chiefly  charmed  and 
interested  us.  There  was  a  richly  ornamented 
door  opening  from  the  southern  transept,  called 
the  Nuns'  Door,  formerly  used  by  the  sisters  as 


208  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

they  passed  to  and  fro  into  the  cloisters  and  into 
the  old  gardens.  Both  these  latter  are  now  part 
of  that  shadowy  time  when  the  old  interior  was 
full  of  the  white-capped,  black-gowned  nuns.  It 
was  the  memory  which  the  thought  of  these  silent 
saintly-browed  women  brought  up  to  our  minds, 
that  served  to  remind  us  of  the  covenant  we  had 
made  with  our  kindly  and  garrulous  landlady. 
We  proceeded  at  once  in  search  of  the  remark- 
able hair,  which  the  verger  assured  us  was  as 
genuine  as  it  was  ancient. 

"  It 's  a  thousand  years  old  if  it 's  a  day,  mum," 
he  said,  with  the  severe  accent  which  is  wont  to 
accompany  conviction ;  "  and  it 's  as  perfect  as  any 
lady's  in  the  land." 

He  thereupon  proceeded  to  uncover  a  semicir- 
cular box  with  a  glass  top.  Through  the  glass  we 
looked  down  upon  a  bit  of  a  wooden  log,  on  which 
lay  evidently  a  woman's  scalp,  depending  from 
which  was  a  mass  of  golden  brownish  hair,  care- 
fully braided.  The  log,  the  verger  explained,  was 
the  cushion  used  in  those  ancient  times  as  the  rude 
head-rest  of  the  dead.  The  "relic"  had  been  found 
years  ago  by  some  workmen  while  digging  up  a 
grave.     It  was  an  interesting,  but  on  the  whole  not 


HURSLEY  AND  ROMSEY  ABBEY.  209 

a  cheering  or  inspiriting  sight,  although  there  was  a 
certain  glimmer  of  ghoulish  fascination  in  watch- 
ing the  threads  of  gold,  which  the  stray  sunshine 
lit  up  these  hundreds  of  years  after  the  owner 
of  those  fair  locks  had  crumbled  into  nothing- 
ness. It  was  a  relief  to  turn  away  to  the  beautiful 
lancet  windows  put  up  in  memory  of  Palmerston, 
and  even  the  tomb  of  the  Romsey  clothier  seemed 
to  make  death  and  decay  more  decently  remote 
and  unreal. 

The  landlady,  however,  was  troubled  by  no  such 
dismal  sentimentalities.  Her  first  question,  as  she 
stood  awaiting  us  on  the  doorstep,  was  whether  or 
not  we  had  seen  "  hit."  On  assuring  her  that  we 
had,  she  added  with  cheery  blitheness  :  "  Beautiful 
specimen,  is  n't  it,  an'  such  a  lovely  color  has  it 
was;  there  was  no  dye  about  that,  was  there,  an' 
so  neat  as  she  was,"  —  in  full  confidence,  apparently, 
that  it  had  been  the  custom  of  the  dead  of  old  to  do 
their  own  hair-dressing. 

Half  an  hour  later,  after   supper,  we   clattered 

out  of  her    hospitable    courtyard.     Her    farewell 

speeches   pursued  us  down   the  street.     But  the 

town  was  evidently  familiar  with  the  sound  of  her 

strong  voice ;  for  although  it  started  a  number  of 

14 


210  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

slumbering  echoes  under  the  old  doorways,  it  ap- 
peared to  arouse  no  fellow-townsman's  interest. 

Our  glimpse  of  Broadlands  came  just  after  we 
had  crossed  the  clear  little  river  Test,  over  which 
sprang  a  pretty  two-arched  bridge.  A  rise  on  the 
hill  just  outside  the  little  town  gave  us  a  command- 
ing prospect  of  the  great  premier's  former  seat  and 
of  the  adjoining  lands  of  the  estate.  The  house 
stood  in  the  midst  of  emerald  lawns  which  swept, 
by  a  series  of  gentle  declivities,  down  to  the 
river-banks.  There  was  a  dim  vast  perspective 
beyond,  of  meadows,  trees,  and  bushy  banks.  In 
the  immediate  foreground  some  fine  cows  were 
standing  in  the  clear  stream  up  to  their  middle, 
making,  with  the  noble  colonnaded  facade  of  the 
dignified  and  somewhat  severe-looking  stone  man- 
sion, with  the  turf  and  the  great  trees,  an  imme- 
morial picture  of  tranquil  and  yet  stately  beauty. 
It  was  a  prospect  which  fulfilled  one's  ideal  of  the 
perfect  blending  of  the  pastoral  and  the  majestic. 
Such  a  grouping  as  Broadlands  made,  with  the 
rustic  charms  of  the  old  town,  the  mediaeval  sanc- 
tity of  association  clustering  in  the  tightly-knit 
Norman  abbey  structure,  and  that  note  of  rural 
loveliness  struck  by  the  meadows  and  the  river, 


0, 


HURSLEY  AND  ROMSEY  ABBEY.  211 

was  such  as  completes  one's  ideal  vision  of  a  fine 
old  English  seat.  No  spot  could  be  imagined  more 
conducive  to  repose,  from  a  weary  statesman's  point 
of  view ;  and  no  surroundings  would  be  more  certain 
to  awaken  and  to  stir  anew  the  fire  of  an  ambitious 
devotion  to  one's  country,  to  its  interests  and  its 
welfare.  It  is  ever  the  homely  sights  and  sounds 
of  nature  which  tend  to  nourish  best  the  clinging 
tendrils  of  affection,  and  stir  the  profoundest  chords 
of  a  vibrating  patriotism. 

It  appeared  as  if  it  was  destined,  on  this  par- 
ticular afternoon,  that  we  should  have  vouchsafed 
for  us  a  very  complete  series  of  revelations,  —  of 
the  sources,  for  instance,  whence  spring  English 
love  of,  and  English  delight  in,  her  rural  land- 
scape. From  Romsey  to  Salisbury  our  road  led 
us  into  what  must  have  been  the  very  heart  of 
England's  richest  and  most  vernal  loveliness.  The 
wildness  of  the  Hampshire  hills  had  become  tamed 
into  the  gentleness  of  pretty,  approachable  undula- 
tions. The  verdure  was  greener  with  the  thick- 
ness of  sweet  grasses;  the  trees  were  fuller  and 
taller,  like  all  things  that  have  plenty  of  space 
and  light  in  which  to  grow.  The  roads  and 
lanes   were   such   as   the    poets    have    sung    since 


212  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

Chaucer's  Canterbury  Pilgrims  took  their  pleasure 
along  them. 

Imagine  a  road  lined  as  with  velvet,  with  broad 
grassy  strips  growing  into  a  maze  of  flowering 
hedge-rows ;  overhead  an  unbroken  arch  of  elm, 
under  whose  cool  green  aisles  we  drove  and  con- 
tinued to  drive  for  miles.  As  the  road  dipped  and 
rose,  we  caught  glimpses  of  hills  distant  as  the 
horizon,  with  gleams  below  of  ponds  and  pools, 
the  liquid  eyes  of  this  fair-featured  landscape. 
The  houses,  thatched  and  vine-covered,  and  the 
larger  farmhouses  made  brilliant  flowery  little 
groups  in  the  vernal  picture.  Children  whose 
cheeks  were  redder  than  the  pinks  ran  out  to  peer 
at  us  from  the  rustic  gateways ;  women  and  girls 
with  bright  kerchiefs  were  busy  milking  in  the 
barnyards ;  and  men,  with  serious  Sunday  as- 
pect, in  their  shirt-sleeves  were  solemnly  leaning 
over  the  fence-rails  surveying  them,  their  pigs,  and 
their  sheep,  true  to  the  farmer's  habit,  the  world 
over,  whose  rest  is  always  consecrated  to  doing 
sums  in  arithmetic  over  his  cattle  and  his  lands. 

This  was  the  England  we  all  know  and  have 
learned  to  love  since  we  were  old  enough  to  love 
any  land  or  nation;  whose  greatness  has  always 


HURSLEY  AND  ROMSEY  ABBEY.  213 

been  allied  to  a  certain  grave  simplicity,  whose 
best  poets  have  sung  the  natural  joys  of  rural  life, 
and  whose  heroes'  passion  and  fire  have  ever  been 
tempered  by  the  taste  for  temperance  and  justice. 
It  is  from  English  soil  that  have  sprung  the  true 
sources  of  English  strength  and  greatness,  —  from 
that  healthful  fountain  of  her  rural  life  and  her 
rural  loveliness,  which,  like  the  eternal  springs 
that  flow  around  Hjmettus,  are  immortally  fresh 
and  life-giving. 


214  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 


CHAPTER  X. 

SALISBURY. 

'nr^HERE  is  a  peculiar  charm,  in  an  unknown 
country,  in  watching  the  daily  miracle  of  day 
giving  way  to  night.  Twilight  invests  all  land- 
scape with  a  fresh  meaning.  English  landscape 
particularly  gains  by  the  transformation  of  this 
hour  of  mysterious  charm.  Details  are  lost  in  the 
twilight  blur;  they  are  merged  or  obliterated  by 
the  long  finger  of  the  deepening  shadows  ;  outlines 
etch  their  indistinctness  against  the  sky,  and  the 
landscape  can  be  but  dimly  divined  through  the 
dense  masses  of  shade. 

It  was  through  the  rich  gloom  of  such  an  hour 
that,  as  we  skirted  the  crown  of  a  steep  hill,  we 
looked  down  upon  an  outstretch  of  country  not  yet 
so  lost  in  the  dusk  of  the  night  that  we  could  not 
distinguish  the  arrowy  flight  into  the  sky  of  the 
great  Salisbury  cathedral  spire.  Only  the  noble 
outline  of  the  encompassing  liills,  the  foliage  massed 


SALISBURY.  215 

in  the  valleys,  through  which  the  light  of  the  scat- 
tered villages  glittered  like  tangled  fireflies,  and 
that  upshooting  tapering  spire,  could  be  seen  in 
the  thick  richness  of  the  coming  night. 

Our  road  into  Salisbury  led  us  from  the  brighter 
light  on  the  hill  into  the  darkness  of  the  valley. 
The  villages  were  in  shadow.  Even  the  lights 
were  out  in  the  little  cottages  and  taverns.  Not  a 
tapster  seemed  astir.  The  hush  of  an  early  Sab- 
bath sleep  appeared  to  pervade  each  one  of  the 
hamlets  we  passed. 

Salisbury,  we  found,  was  by  no  means  such  a 
rustic  as  her  country  neighbors.  On  entering  its 
thickly  built  streets  the  lights  were  ablaze  on  the 
street  corners.  The  taverns,  apparently,  were  still 
doing  a  lively  business.  There  were  any  number 
of  friendly  vagrants,  with  no  other  ostensible  occu- 
pation, an  hour  before  midnight,  than  to  continue 
the  day's  work  of  diligently  keeping  their  hands  in 
their  pockets,  readily  willing  to  show  us  our  way 
to  the  "  White  Hart "  inn.  A  formidably  realistic 
figure  of  that  anomalous  member  of  tlie  animal 
kingdom,  surmounting  a  portico  which  projected 
over  the  sidewalk,  proved  that  our  idle  guides  had 
dealt  fairly  with  us. 


216  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

"We  were  received  with  that  air  of  unmoved  calm 
and  that  appearance  of  impassive  interest  charac- 
teristic of  good  English  inn-manners.  Our  coming 
at  nearly  midnight  from  nowhere  in  particular, 
with  a  horse  that  gave  every  evidence  of  having 
found  the  way  long,  —  ourselves  and  luggage  cov- 
ered with  dust,  proving  the  length  of  our  journey 
no  fable,  —  appeared  to  arouse  no  more  concern 
or  curiosity  than  if  we  had  come  at  midday  by 
train. 

"  Do  you  really  suppose  it  is  genuine,  this  indif- 
ference, or  is  it  put  on  ?  "  I  queried  of  Boston,  when 
the  last  dusty  bag  had  been  deposited  in  the  pleas- 
ant lamp-lit  sitting-room. 

"  My  dear,  human  nature  is  n't  as  varied  as  it 
might  be ;  it  has  a  way  of  repeating  its  types.  I 
presume  curiosity  in  Salisbury  is  as  lively  and  ac- 
tive a  faculty  as  curiosity  in  a  New  England  town  ; 
only,  in  England  it  has  learned  the  good  manners 
of  repressing  itself." 

"There's  something  deeper  in  it  than  that,  I 
think  ;  it 's  the  reticence  which  rank  imposes  upon 
its  inferiors.  Fancy  a  peasant  asking  a  lord  where 
he  has  come  from,  and  imagine  a  Yankee  re- 
fraining because  of  any  such  reason.     But  here 's 


SALISBURY.  217 

supper,  and  it  looks  as  good  as  their  manners  are 
perfect." 

To  the  respectful  attention  of  the  waiter  who 
served  us,  was  added,  we  discovered,  another  quality 
of  excellence.  It  was  that  of  thoughtful  consider- 
ateness.  The  discretion  of  the  man's  silence  was 
suddenly  broken  by  what  appeared  to  be  a  sponta- 
neous impulse.  He  was  on  the  point  of  withdraw- 
ing with  the  tray,  at  the  end  of  our  repast,  when 
he  stopped  a  moment  at  the  door,  turned  towards 
me  with  a  little  bow,  and  said,  — 

"  I  hope,  ma'am,  as  ye  won't  be  troubled  by  the 
noise  in  the  mornin',  ma'am,  after  your  long  drive, 
ma'am." 

Before  we  could  ask  a  question  he  was  gone.     . 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?  "  exclaimed  Boston. 

"  It  means  that  something  is  going  to  happen,  — 
a  procession,  or  a  country-meeting,  or  it  may  be  the 
advent  of  Royalty.  But  whatever  it  is  I  shall 
take  the  precaution  to  get  my  forty  winks  imme- 
diately." 

It  was  well  that  I  did;  for  before  dawn  the 
"  noise  "  had  begun.  Our  first  impression  on  awak- 
ing was  that  a  menagerie  and  a  circus  in  combina- 
tion had  been  let  loose. 


218  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

"  The  yearly  tiger  has  broken  out  of  his  cage," 
I  said  conjecturally  to  Boston,  as  I  went  towards 
the  window. 

Light  hoofs  were  striking  the  pavement,  and  the 
tread  of  heavy-booted  men  and  boys.  But  as  I 
opened  the  shutters,  there  came  other  sounds,  —  the 
pitiful  bleating  of  lambs,  the  neighing  of  horses, 
and  the  lowing  of  cattle  ;  so  the  circus  theory  had 
to  be  abandoned. 

Looking  forth  into  the  faint  bluish  gray  of  eatly 
dawn,  I  saw  that  the  street,  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
penetrate  its  length  either  way,  was  filled  with  great 
droves  of  sheep  and  cattle. 

Teamsters  were  driving  huge  wagons  and  carts, 
the  latter  filled  with  calves  and  kids.  There  were 
groups  of  horses  tethered  to  one  another,  led  by 
farmers'  boys  riding  one  of  the  leaders  bare-back. 
Many  of  the  horses  were  tricked  out  with  ribbons 
and  straw  trimmings  in  their  manes  and  tails. 
The  teamsters  also  wore  a  festival  appearance,  with 
gay  little  knots  of  colored  ribbons  fastened  to  their 
coats  and  large  hats.  The  noise  and  the  tumult 
were  indescribable ;  there  was  the  barking  of  the 
shepherd  dogs  as  they  plunged  madly  after  stray 
sheep,  the  yelling  of  the  teamsters  to  one  another, 


SALISBURY.  219 

the  shouting  of  the  boys  as  their  horses  reared  or 
struggled,  and,  piercing  through  the  din  like  some 
flageolet  note  of  pain,  was  the  pathetic  bleating  of 
the  sheep  and  the  groaning  of  the  calves.  Natu- 
rally, with  such  a  chorus  of  sounds  in  the  air,  sleep 
was  out  of  the  question.  Shortly  before  six  we 
rang  for  breakfast.  In  just  fifteen  minutes  it  ap- 
peared, borne  by  our  waiter  of  the  night  before. 
His  unexampled  promptness  he  at  once  proceeded 
to  explain,  deeming,  doubtless,  that  a  haste  so  con- 
trary to  the  provincial  habit  rendered  some  form 
of  apology  necessary. 

"I  knowed  you  couldn't  sleep,  sir,  what  with 
the  noise  and  the  uproar,  an'  so  I  got  your  break- 
fast ready  in  case  it  was  ordered,  sir." 

"  What  is  it  ?  —  what  is  all  this  noise  about  ?  " 

"  It 's  the  sheep-fair,  sir,  —  the  sheep,  horse,  and 
cattle  fair,  as  takes  place  once  a  year." 

"  Is  it  held  here  in  town  ? " 

"  About  a  mile  out,  sir,  down  in  the  meadows. 
But  the  city's  full,  —  full  of  the  gentry  and  the 
farmers  come  in  to  buy.  We've  been  up  nearly 
all  night  a-waitin'  on  'em,  sir.  You  ought  to 
see  it,  sir,  begging  your  pardon ;  it 's  a  grand 
sight." 


220  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

"  See  it  ?  I  wonder  what  he  takes  us  for  ?  "  said 
Boston,  with  more  emphasis  than  elegance  as  the 
waiter  closed  the  door  behind  him.  "  Not  go  to 
a  sheep-fair  in  England  when  it's  at  vour  very 
door  ?  As  well  go  to  Rome  and  not  see  the  Pope, 
should  he  pass  beneath  your  window !  " 

"  I  suppose,  then,  we  '11  postpone  the  cathedral." 
"The   cathedral,    my    dear,   having    been    here 
some  five  hundred  years,  will   presumably   be   in 
town  at  least  till  to-morrow." 

"  We  can't  drive  Ballad  out ;  he 's  too  tired." 
"  We  don't  want  him.     It  would  be  better  to 
go  as  the   rest  do,  —  as  those   people   are   going 
now  in  those  queer-looking  traps ;  don't  you  think 
so?r 

We  were  looking  out  of  the  window  again.  The 
droves  of  cattle  had  given  place  to  multitudes  of 
people,  —  to  farmers,  country-looking  gentlemen, 
young  and  old,  to  tradesmen  and  their  wives,  —  a 
motley  anxious  crowd,  standing  about  on  street- 
corners  waiting  for  seats  in  some  one  of  the  nu- 
merous passing  vehicles.  But  not  a  seat  was  to  be 
had,  apparently.  Every  species  of  cart,  wagon, 
trap,  and  vehicle  which  the  surrounding  country 
contained  had  been  put  into  requisition.     Drivers 


SALISBURY.  221 

plied  their  whips,  speeding  along  in  clouds  of  dust 
to  the  fair,  returning  for  fresh  passengers  ;  yet  the 
crowds  never  seemed  to  thin. 

It  was  nearly  midday  before  we  ourselves  were 
in  possession  of  a  broken-down  phaeton  and  jaded 
horse,  whose  owner,  at  a  preposterous  price,  con- 
sented to  our  occupying  the  vehicle,  without  the 
addition  of  the  dozen  or  more  fellow-passengers 
usually  crowded  into  it. 

The  mile,  what  with  its  dust  and  thronged 
thoroughfares,  and  the  curious  mixture  of  the 
human  and  animal  species,  we  found  just  a  mile 
too  long ;  but  the  first  glimpse  of  the  fair  grounds 
made  these  discomforts  more  than  endurable. 

In  a  wide  stretch  of  rich  meadow-land,  with 
fringes  of  trees  and  bits  of  wood  for  an  enceinte, 
with  gently  sloping  hills  towards  the  west,  where 
the  flags  and  the  bunting  would  show  well  against 
the  sky,  lay  the  fair  grounds.  The  scene,  as  we 
entered,  was  brilliant  with  life  and  movement.  The 
wicker  pens  were  packed  with  noble-looking  sheep 
and  rams,  crowded  together  so  closely  that  their 
backs  looked  like  an  unbroken  sheep-rug.  Under 
the  trees,  and  in  the  open,  were  grouped  the  horses 
and  cattle.     Some  jockeys,  in  brilliant  tweed  vests, 


222  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

and  farmers'  boys  were  riding  stallions  and  half- 
broken  colts,  while  the  mares  and  still  younger 
colts  were  tethered  to  the  tree-trunks,  contentedly 
nibbling  the  short  grass,  as  if  a  change  of  masters 
were  among  the  things  to  be  accepted  with  philoso- 
phy in  a  life  of  vicissitudes. 

The  ceaselessly  moving  throngs  of  people  filled 
the  alleys  between  the  sheep-pens,  crowded  about 
the  auctioneers'  stands,  and  packed  the  narrow 
strip  allotted  to  spectators  about  the  horse  enclo- 
sures. The  crowd  had  the  instability  of  a  mercu- 
rial stream;  now  conjoining  into  groups  to  halloo 
and  hurrah  over  some  feet  of  horsemanship ;  or 
dissolving  like  quicksilver,  only  to  meet  again  at 
the  improvised  booths  and  al-fresco  restaurants 
which  countrywomen  and  gypsies  had  erected 
under  the  belt  of  the  more  distant  trees.  The 
scene,  teaming  with  life  and  replete  in  contrasts, 
was  set,  like  a  picture  in  its  frame,  in  the  emerald 
meadows  and  the  tender  foliage  ;  all  the  outlines 
were  softened  and  harmonized  by  the  rich  verdure. 
It  was  a  Teniers  framed  in  velvet. 

The  dominant  note  in  the  scene  was  its  dead 
earnestness.  This  was  no  make-believe  fair,  —  a 
Frenchman's  gala-outing  or  a  Spaniard's /e^e,  where 


SALISBURY.  223 

barter  and  trade  were  only  to  serve  as  the  mask 
of  revelry.  This  was  a  camp  of  traders  bent  on 
business.  There  appeared  to  be  little  or  no  loiter-, 
ing  under  the  great  trees,  among  the  buyers,  in 
wait  for  any  chance  pleasure  or  gayety  to  which 
the  occasion  might  give  rise.  In  trade  an  English- 
man is  as  serious  as  he  is  when  at  his  prayers.  He 
would  as  soon  think  of  play  as  an  accompaniment 
to  the  one  as  to  the  other. 

The  absence,  presumably,  of  any  coarse  gaye- 
ties  accounted  for  tlie  presence  of  so  many  sons 
of  the  Church.  They  were  quite  as  safe  here 
from  the  profane  vulgarities  of  the  world  as  in 
their  pulpits.  The  curate's  innocent  round-eyed 
face,  the  rector's  more  worldly  figure,  immacu- 
late in  linen,  with  severely  cut  garments,  were  in 
amusing  contrast  to  the  knowingly  tipped  nose 
of  the  pervasive  jockey,  who  cracked  his  short 
whip  and  uttered  a  joke  in  the  very  teeth  of  these 
gentlemen.  Among  the  crowd  sauntered  swells  in 
perfection  of  riding-gear.  Stolid-looking  country 
squires  and  every  variety  of  farmer  were  inextri- 
cably mixed  in  the  mass  of  the  moving,  jostling 
multitude.  Here  and  there  a  swarthy-skinned 
gypsy-girl,  with  gleaming  teeth  and   glossy   hair, 


224  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

shot  through  the  crowd  like  a  darting  bit  of  flame, 
focussing  all  eyes  upon  her  as  she  smiled  boldly 
back.  At  the  outskirts  of  the  grounds  some  noisy 
flirtations  were  in  full  swing  between  some  of  these 
gay-kerchiefed  gypsies  and  the  plough-boys  and 
farmers'  lads  who  had  been  left  to  guard  the  wag- 
ons and  teams.  The  sound  of  their  broad  coarse 
laughter  was  like  the  introduction  of  an  opera- 
bouffe  aria  into  the  midst  of  a  grave  cantata. 

Such  pleasures  as  the  fair  offered  were  concen- 
trated about  the  eating-booths.  It  was  rather  a 
solemn  company  of  feasters  that  we  passed,  croAvd- 
ing  about  the  little  tables.  The  English  farmer 
has  never  learned  the  art  of  seasoning  his  food 
with  laughter.  The  cattle  feeding  out  yonder,  and 
these  silent  farmers  who  gave  out  a  monosyllable 
or  two  between  the  beer-draining,  both  brought  to 
their  meal  the  same  Egyptian  gravity  and  dignity. 
One  admirable  little  rustic  scene  greeted  our  eyes 
on  our  way  out.  It  was  an  old  barn  filled  with 
long  narrow  tables  on  which  was  placed  a  profu- 
sion of  coarse  homely  fare.  Farmers  and  team- 
sters crowded  the  barrels,  casks,  and  broken  stools, 
—  the  only  available  seats.  Their  strong  sunburnt 
faces  loomed  out  of  the  dark.     The  steaming  food, 


SALISBURY.  225 

the  coarse  textures  of  the  farmers'  coats  and  capes, 
and  the  serving-women,  who  now  raised  a  beer- 
jug,  now  planted  their  arms  akimbo  on  their 
wide  hips,  throwing  back  their  full  strong  throats, 
as  they  joined  in  the  occasional  short  laughter 
that  went  round  with  the  beer,  made  a  very  com- 
plete picture  of  rustic  life  and  manners. 

Just  outside  the  barn  a  trade  was  being  struck. 
The  buyers  were  two  gentlemen,  one  of  whom  had 
taken  off  his  riding-glove  and  had  thrust  his 
richly  jewelled  hand  deep  into  the  nearest  sheep's 
thick  coat.  The  sellers  were  two  farmers.  The 
elder  was  a  noble-looking  old  man,  of  the  last- 
century  type,  whose  frugal  savings  had  written 
their  obvious  balm  of  peace  and  content  on  his 
rugged  unworried  face.  Next  him  stood  a  thin 
nervous  younger  farmer,  whose  premature  lines  of 
care  were  tell-tale  proofs  that  American  beef  and 
American  wheat  were  harder  competitors  to  fight 
than  his  Georgian  grandfather  had  found  the 
American  Rebels. 

'  There  were  but  few  words  interchanged,  but  the 
gentlemen  handled  the  sheep  with  the  air  of  con- 
noisseurs.    Finally  the  elder  gentleman  turned  to 

the  younger  farmer,  and  said, — 

15 


226  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

"We'll  take  them.  Have  them  driven  over 
directly,  will  you  ?  " 

The  farmer  nodded  and  whistled ;  a  lad  appeared 
in  response ;  the  sheep  were  driven  out  of  their 
pens,  and  all  started  forward. 

"  Is  it  a  long  bit  ?  "  the  lad  asked  of  the  gentle- 
men as  they  mounted  their  horses  at  the  gate. 

"  Not  so  very,  —  about  eight  miles  or  so." 

The  boy  grasped  his  stick  more  firmly,  turned, 
made  a  half-moon  of  one  hand  against  the  side  of 
his  mouth,  and  shouted  down  into  the  hollow,  — 

"Father,  don't  ee  wait  dinner;  it's  a  long  bit, 
eight  mile  or  more.  Don't  ee  wait.'^  He  then 
resumed  the  guardianship  of  his  sheep. 

"  It 's  a  primitive  way  of  doing  one's  shopping, 
but  it  has  the  advantage  of  appearing  to  insure 
speed  and  an  honest  delivery  of  the  goods,"  said 
Boston,  as  we  proceeded  leisurely  to  follow  the 
sheep  and  the  two  men,  but  at  a  distance,  because 
of  the  dust  raised  by  the  sheep  in  the  open  road- 
way. 

A  short  drive  soon  took  us  into  the  heart  of 
the  city.  The  streets,  as  we  drove  back,  seemed 
strangely  still  and  deserted.  All  the  stir  of  life 
had  evidently  localized  itself  in  the  fair  grounds. 


SALISBURY.  227 

The  character  of  the  streets,  we  noticed,  appeared 
to  be  a  curious  mixture  of  the  old  and  the  modern. 
Salisbury,  having  been  built  so  recently  as  1220, 
failing  to  be  as  old  as  possible,  was  probably 
bent  on  being  as  modern  as  is  compatible  with 
the  national  conservatism.  In  proof  of  this  latter 
ambition  there  were  so  many  structures,  brave  in 
fresh  paint  and  in  modern  complexity  of  design,  as 
to  make  the  still  remaining  older  houses  appear  out 
of  place. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  intrusion  of  these  modern 
buildings  that  made  us  suddenly  dismiss  our  lum- 
bering vehicle,  and  decide  to  walk  into  the  dark- 
ness of  one  of  the  older  narrower  side-streets. 
A  really  experienced  traveller  never  looks  for  the 
picturesque  on  the  main  thoroughfares.  The  true 
antique  spirit  of  the  past  is  usually  to  be  found 
lurking  among  the  less  pretentious  streets ;  for 
the  antique  spirit,  like  all  other  decent  ghosts, 
prefers  darkness  and  secrecy  to  the  glare  of  day- 
light, knowing  full  well  the  advantages  to  be  gained 
by  the  jugglery  of  mysteriousness.  Thus  the  true 
beauty  of  old  towns  is  to  be  looked  for  among 
the  sunken  narrow  sidewalks,  among  the  rickety 
houses   and  the  little  weedy  gardens,  —  parks  and 


228  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

terraces  once,  perhaps,  but  which  the  poor  of  the 
town  have  no  time  now  to  plant  or  to  weed.  All 
this  we  found  as  true  of  Salisbury  as  we  had  of 
many  another  city,  whose  fresh  modern  main  streets 
had  sent  us  home  with  a  chill  of  disappointment. 

The  narrower,  the  meaner,  the  poorer  the  streets, 
we  found  as  we  walked  along,  the  prettier  the  town 
grew.  No  one  had  found  it  worth  his  wliile  to 
pull  down  these  half-decayed  old  houses,  or  even 
to  repaint  them ;  so  the  tiny  casemented  windows, 
the  carved  Tudor  pilasters,  and  the  rare  old  doors 
and  entrances  had  remained  unspoiled.  In  color, 
two  or  three  of  these  streets  were  lovely  in  their 
dulled  prismatic  hues.  The  crumbling  fagades 
had  the  softness  and  mellowness  of  old  ivory. 
Their  faint  yellows  and  pale  grays  made  some 
of  the  carvings  look  like  bits  of  tattered  rich 
old  lace.  The  only  conspicuously  modern  ele- 
ment was  the  filth ;  but  as  dirt  seems  everywhere 
the  true  and  necessary  concomitant  of  color  of  the 
best  sort,  we  were  disposed  to  regard  the  sloppy 
sidewalks  and  the  reeking  alley-ways  with  a  lenient 
eye. 

A  girl  with  a  red  kerchief  pinned  across  her 
bosom,  and  a  pitcher  in  one  hand,  suddenly  appeared 


SALISBURY.  229 

from  beneath  one  of  the  arched  doorways.  Instead 
of  proceeding  down  the  street,  she  turned  at  one  of 
the  corners  of  an  alley-way,  and  went  towards  a 
path  that  led  into  the  open  meadows ;  for  the  out- 
lying fields  straggled  with  comfortable  assurance 
close  along  the  edges  of  the  streets. 

"  She  is  going  for  water,  and  probably  to  the 
river ;  I  mean  to  follow  her ! "  I  exclaimed. 

"How  absurd!  We  shall  only  lose  our  way!" 
protested  Boston,  who,  after  the  fixed  habit  of  men, 
always  made  a  point  of  distrusting  an  impulse. 

"  Nonsense  !  we  have  n't  any  way ;  besides,  we 
have  discovered  before  now,  that  the  true  method 
of  finding  it  is  to  lose  it.     Come  !  " 

I  started  down  the  alley-way  in  pursuit  of  the 
red  kerchief.  Boston  followed,  but  at  a  distance ; 
for  a  man  at  all  times  has  a  certain  respect  for  the 
varnish  of  his  boots,  —  a  respect  which  is  apt  to  be 
accentuated  when  he  is  following  his  wife  into  paths 
not  of  his  choosing,  and  which  in  this  case,  at 
least,  were  uncommonly  slippery. 

The  reeking  alley-way  soon  became  a  path, along 
the  river-bank.  It  had  turned  at  a  sharp  angle, 
and  lo  !  almost  at  our  feet  stretched  the  low, 
sweet,  straggling  river.    I  was  right.     The  girl,  our 


230  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

guide,  had  come  for  water.  She  stooped  over  the 
bank,  filled  her  ewer,  and  then  rose  slowly,  its 
weight  bending  her  over  as  she  walked  back  along 
the  path.  Her  red  kerchief  and  her  frowsy  reddish 
hair  made  the  scene  seem  less  brilliant  when  she 
had  disappeared  behind  the  corner  of  the  first 
house. 

We  continued  our  walk  along  the  river-bank. 
Each  step  brought  a  fresh  revelation  of  beauty. 
First  of  all,  there  was  the  charm,  which  every  one 
knows  who  has  tried  it,  of  following  an  unfamil- 
iar river.  One  never  knows  just  where  an  unknown 
river  may  lead.  As  a  guide,  a  stream  or  a  little 
river  is  far  more  interesting  than  the  most  enter- 
taining of  streets.  It  is  more  talkative,  for  one 
thing.  Its  babble  and  its  ripple,  as  it  flows  gently 
over  the  sedgy  grasses,  is  at  once  new  and  familiar. 
It  is  like  the  tones  of  some  old  friend's  voice  sound- 
ing in  our  ears,  rendered  strange  only  because  he  is 
clothed  in  unfamiliar  garments.  So  this  low-toned 
Avon  sounded  delightfully  friendly,  as  it  chatted  to 
the  weeds  and  the  tall  grasses  growing  along  its 
straggling  banks.  It  led  us  almost  unconsciously 
along,  as  we  travelled  in  the  company  of  a  number 
of  wonderful  old  houses,  whose  decrepit  appearance 


SALISBURY.  231 

told  us  how  long  they  had  b^en  standing  here, 
watching  the  river  flow  on^/^Here,  at  last,  was  the 
ideal  Salisbury.  This  maze  of  soft  foliage,  these 
odorous  river-banks,  these  rows  of  tottering  build- 
ings, long  since  fallen  out  of  the  perpendicular, 
made  a  rich  harmony  of  architectural  adjuncts  to 
the  natural  rural  note  of  the  meadows  and  the 
waving  tree-tops. 

There  was  a  bridge,  I  remember,  which  we  crossed, 
and  on  which  we  stood  for  several  moments,  watch- 
ing the  picture  as  it  focussed  into  new  outlines.^ 
Suddenly  we  lifted  our  eyes ;  and  there  upward 
soared  the  giant  spire  of  the  cathedral.  It  shot  its 
tapering  spiral  into  the  dizzy  ether  like  a  thing  of 
life. 

There  could  have  been  no  better  point  of  view 
than  this  from  which  to  gain  one's  first  glimpse  of 
this  great  spire.  Subsequent  observations  taken 
from  the  cathedral  close  diminished  very  sensibly 
the  effect  of  its  incomparable  grace  and  its  ma- 
jestic symmetry,  A  spire,  more  than  any  other 
architectural  feature  perhaps,  demands  a  certain 
distance  and  the  advantages  of  perspective.  Seen 
at  near  range,  neither  its  true  height  nor  its  just 
proportions   can  be  properly  measured.    Here,  in 


232  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

the  midst  of  this  rustic  setting,  with  only  the  trees 
for  rivals  and  to  serve  as  aids  for  measurement, 
the  noble  spire  rose  toward  heaven  in  all  the  ful- 
ness of  its  perfection.  At  first  its  true  height  is 
scarcely  appreciable,  so  symmetrically  proportioned 
are  its  four  hundred  and  four  feet.  After  repeated 
and  careful  examination,  the  wonder  still  remains 
that  this  tapering  angle,  lanced  into  the  sky  to  such 
a  daring  altitude,  can,  at  the  last  as  at  the  first 
view,  appeal  to  the  eye  rather  because  of  its  surpass- 
ing lightness  and  grace  than  merely  as  a  triumph  of 
height.  This  latter  glory  it  leaves  to  its  two  rivals, 
to  Strasburg  and  Amiens.  It  still  remains  un- 
equalled in  the  higher  beauties  of  true  grace  of 
proportion  and  in  simplicity  of  design. 

The  note  of  contrast  between  such  a  noble  archi- 
tectural feature  as  this  spire  and  this  smiling  pasto- 
ral setting  was  touched  again  with  singular  felicity, 
we  found,  in  the  first  full  view  we  had  of  the  cathe- 
dral, set  in  the  midst  of  its  beautiful  close. 

In  our  subsequent  walks  about  the  little  provin- 
cial streets  of  the  city  the  presence  of  one  of  the 
greatest  cathedrals  in  England  would  be  scarcely 
suspected,  so  concealed  is  the  magnificent  structure 
behind  its  ramparts  of  walls  and  trees.     Salisbury 


Salisbury  Cathedral,  from  the  Cloister. 


Page  232. 


SALISBURY.  233 

is,  I  believe,  the  only  walled  cathedral  in  England. 
In  the  reign  of  Edward  III.  a  license  was  granted 
for  an  embattled  wall  to  be  built  around  the  en- 
closure, which  contains  the  cathedral  itself,  the 
Bishop's  Palace,  the  broad  sweep  of  turf,  and  a 
number  of  smaller  houses  belonging  to  the  cathe- 
dral. The  walls  are  pierced  by  four  gateways. 
The  cathedral  enclosure  is  in  reality  a  city  within 
a  city.  Once  past  the  formidable-looking  St.  Anne's 
gateway  with  its  quaintly  ancient  chapel  overhead, 
one  has  the  sense  of  treading  consecrated  ground. 

The  cathedral  rests  its  grand  base  on  a  clear, 
wide  sweep  of  turf.  The  velvet  of  the  lawn  runs 
close  to  the  roughened  edges  of  the  foundation 
stones.  The  trees  are  removed  at  wide  dis- 
tances, and  form  no  part  of  the  immediate  sur- 
roundings ;  so  that  the  wonderful  structure  stands 
clear  and  free.  From  its  base  to  the  diminutive 
apex  of  its  spire  there  is  nothing  to  break  the 
fulness  and  grandeur  of  the  effect  of  the  structure 
as  a  whole. 

Next  to  the  completeness  of  the  genius  which 
could  conceive  and  erect  such  a  building,  is  the 
talent  which  knew  just  how  best  to  place  it.  Salis- 
bury is  as  perfectly  placed  as  if  Phidias  had  had 


234  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

a  hand  in  it.  There  is  much,  indeed,  in  this  cathe- 
dral to  remind  one  of  Greek  workmanship.  Its 
supreme  air  of  high  finish,  the  perfection  of  its 
proportion,  its  aerial  grace,  and  its  ideal  symmetry- 
all  recall  the  greater  works  of  those  masters  whose 
creations  must  forever  remain  the  models  of  the 
world.  One  is  under  the  same  stress  of  necessity 
to  view  this  cathedral  from  all  sides  and  from 
every  point  of  view  as  seizes  upon  one  in  gazing 
at  the  great  statues  of  antiquity.  The  cathedral 
may  be  said  to  be  as  complete  as  the  most  perfect 
Greek  statue.  Much  of  the  same  airy  grace,  the 
lightness,  and,  more  than  all,  that  bloom  which  the 
best  Greek  work  irradiates,  belongs  also  to  this 
cathedral;  the  bloom  that  is  only  to  be  found  at 
the  most  perfect  moment  of  the  growth  and  virility 
of  an  art.  Salisbury  was  built  at  the  most  fruitful 
period  of  England's  building  era.  Its  inspiration 
came  when  architecture  had  attained  the  meridian 
of  its  technical  skill,  and  when  the  art  had  been 
domiciled  long  enough  to  be  capable  of  producing 
a  truly  national  and  original  creation.  Salisbury  is 
as  representative,  as  typical,  and  as  national  as  the 
Parthenon.  It  is  supremely  English.  It  is  so  pre- 
eminently English,  indeed,  that  it  can  still  stand 


SALISBURY.  235 

as  the  embodiment  of  its  religion,  of  that  form 
which  alone  is  suited  to  the  English  religious  taste 
and  to  its  spiritual  temper, — the  form  of  the  Es- 
tablished Church,  a  religion  governed  by  law, 
administered  by  ceremonial,  yet  freed  from  despot- 
ism and  therefore  typically  English.  Salisbury  is 
the  ideal  cathedral  of  such  a  religion.  It  was 
made  for  beautiful  ceremonials  which  yet  should 
have  a  congregational  form,  — for  ceremonials  which 
would  have  no  need  of  the  mysteries  of  Catholic  sym- 
bolism. Its  builders,  though  Catholics  and  Catho- 
lics of  the  thirteenth-century  blindly-believing  order, 
were  nevertheless  Englishmen  before  they  were 
Catholics.  In  those  soaring  lines,  in  that  vast  yet 
orderly-disposed  mass,  in  the  rich  yet  serious  trac- 
ery, and  in  the  grandeur  of  the  harmonious  outlines, 
the  English  talent  for  moderation,  its  genius  for 
order,  its  love  and  delight  in  wise  reticence,  and  its 
insistent  demands  for  unity  and  proportion  are  re- 
vealed and  embodied.  If  England  were  now  capa- 
ble of  producing  so  complete  an  architectural  work, 
her  genius  would  again  run  into  this  early  Gothic 
mould,  —  into  this  precise  mould  which  she  made  her 
own,  —  into  the  Early  English,  of  which  Salisbury 
remains  as  the  most  perfect  example. 


236  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

Another  of  the  causes  which  combined  to  com- 
plete the  perfection  of  this  cathedral  was  the  fact 
of  its  having  been  built  within  the  short  period 
of  thirty-eight  years.  The  plan  of  the  original  de- 
signers was  thus  scrupulously  adhered  to,  not  al- 
tered and  changed  and  then  the  structure  itself 
finally  torn  down  to  suit  still  later  innovators,  as 
has  been  the  fate  of  almost  every  other  cathedral 
in  England.  This  admirable  celerity  of  execution 
proves  the  freedom  and  the  skill  attained  by  its 
builders.  It  again  reminds  us  of  the  Greek  work- 
men who  could  design  and  complete  the  buildings 
on  the  Acropolis  in  thirty  or  more  short  years. 

The  history  of  the  building  of  the  cathedral 
comes  down  to  us  begirt  with  the  usual  decora- 
tive embellishments  of  legend  and  superstitious  ro- 
mance. That  the  old  Sarum  Cathedral,  which  had 
crowned  the  old  hill  fortification,  being  succes- 
sively Brito-Roman,  Saxon,  and  Norman,  had  for 
centuries  exercised  its  jurisdiction  over  half  the 
southern  diocese  of  England,  history  affirms.  Also 
that  in  the  time  of  Bishop  le  Poer,  this  ancient 
church  was  found  suffering  from  a  number  of  incon- 
veniences, such  as  scarcity  of  water,  exposure,  and 
the  insults  of  the  soldiery  quartered  in  the  castle 


SALISBURY.  237. 

hard  by,  is  likewise  no  fable.  But  the  modern 
imagination  finds  itself  lacking  in  flexibility  when 
asked  to  believe  that  the  site  of  the  new  cathedral, 
in  the  smiling  fertile  valleys  of  the  plain,  was  de- 
termined by  an  arrow  shot  from  the  ramparts  of 
old  Sariim ;  and  one's  credulity  rebels  at  an  ac- 
ceptance of  the  other  alternative  offered,  that  of 
believing  that  the  site  was  revealed  to  the  bishop 
in  a  dream  by  the  Blessed  Lady  in  person.  The 
subsequent  building  of  the  church  was  carried  along 
under  the  impetus  of  a  religious  fervor  in  keeping 
with  this  latter  statement.  A  great  body  of  the 
nobles,  returning  with  the  king  from  Wales  during 
the  laying  of  the  foundations,  went  to  Salisbury, 
"  and  each  laid  his  stone,  binding  himself  to  some 
special  contribution  for  a  period  of  seven  years." 
Little  wonder  that  the  cathedral  grew  apace.  It 
grew  so  fast  that,  begun  in  1217,  it  was  com- 
pleted in  1258,  the  cloisters  and  chapter-house 
being  added  in  the  latter  part  of  the  same  century. 
Tlie  history  of  the  spire  is  less  assured.  It  seems 
a  question  whether  or  not  it  formed  a  part  of  the 
original  plan ;  but,  erected  in  1330-1375,  it  now 
stands  as  the  fitting  completion  to  crown  the  noble 
structure.   Two  supremely  interesting  features  in  the 


238  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

external  design  are  noticeable  at  a  first  glance,  — 
the  boldness  of  breaking  the  general  outline  by 
two  transepts  instead  of  one,  and  the  beauty  and 
simplicity  of  the  apsidal  portion.  The  western 
front,  compared  with  these  two  strikingly  original 
features,  loses  in  impressiveness,  although  in  de- 
sign it  possesses  a  unity  in  composition  rarely  seen 
in  English  fronts.  The  perfection  of  finish  so  no- 
ticeable in  the  exterior  of  Salisbury  is  due  to  the 
marvellous  care  taken  to  insure  accuracy  in  the 
masonry.  As  soon  as  one  part  was  finished,  it  was 
exactly  copied  in  the  next ;  so  that  the  completed 
whole  presents  an  exactness  and  precision  hardly 
paralleled,  perhaps, in  any  other  great  building.  This 
high  degree  of  finish  is  in  some  measure  accounta- 
ble for  the  fault  of  severity  in  outline  and  the  lack 
of  shadow  so  often  commented  upon  in  this  cathe- 
dral ;  but  the  supreme  elegance  and  the  rare  unity 
attained  more  than  outweigh  such  defects. 

The  same  perfection  of  finish  that  characterizes 
the  exterior  is  found  in  the  interior.  The  halls  of  a 
palace  could  not  be  more  consummately  radiant  in 
their  perfection.  The  eye  wanders  in  dazed  delight 
over  the'  glistening  floor,  over  the  glittering  mar- 
bles, and  the  polished  Purbeck  shafts.     The  green 


SALISBURY.  239 

of  the  latter  material  is  only  appreciable  when 
polished ;  so  that  although  the  ten  great  bays  with 
their  clustered  columns  are  all  of  Purbeck,  only  the 
shafts  gleam  with  color.  The  eye  sweeps  in  un- 
encumbered freedom  from  length  to  length  of  the 
gloriously  vaulted  nave.  The  finely  wrought  em- 
broidery of  the  brass  choir-screen  separates  the 
apsidal  portion  of  the  cathedral  from  the  nave  ; 
thus  the  cinque-cento  glass  in  the  Lady  Chapel  is 
clearly  visible  from  the  extreme  western  end. 

At  the  Reformation,  although  Salisbury  was 
spared  the  usual  barbarities  inflicted  by  the  Com- 
monwealth soldiery  on  the  great  cathedrals,  it  did 
not  escape  the  fate  of  abandonment  and  desolation. 
Its  true  profanation  was  left  for  more  experienced 
hands.  In  1791  the  architect  Wyatt,  with  his  origi- 
nal views  as  to  how  the  eighteenth  century  could 
improve  on  the  thirteenth,  swept  away  screens, 
porches,  chapels,  tombs ;  he  "  flung  stained-glass  by 
cart-loads  into  the  open  ditch ;  destroyed  ancient 
paintings,  and  levelled  with  the  ground  the  campa- 
nile, which  stood  on  the  north  side  of  the  church,"  — 
all  of  which  astonishing  iconoclastic  changes  were 
deemed  by  the  authorities  of  his  time  as  "  tasteful, 
effective,  and  judicious."     Fortunately  the  unique 


240  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

and  beautiful  triforium,  with  its  thickly  clustered 
columns  and  its  airy  open  arcade,  as  well  as  the 
splendor  of  the  magnificent  vaulting  in  the  roof, 
escaped;  in  the  upper  stories  of  the  cathedral,  at 
least,  the  original  work  of  the  builders  remains 
unspoiled.  Among  other  changes  Wyatt  ordained 
that  the  knights  and  warriors,  the  courtiers  and 
their  stiff-stomachered  spouses,  should  be  ranged 
in  two  long  rows  beneath  the  arches  of  the  great 
aisles.  It  is  a  monstrous  arrangement,  and  yet  it 
produces  a  certain  grandeur  of  effect.  These  mailed 
warriors,  these  courtiers  in  ruffles  and  lace,  these 
Elizabethan-ruffed  countesses,  —  the  former  grasp- 
ing their  swords  as  if  seeing  in  every  gazer  a  Cru- 
sader's enemy ;  others,  more  at  peace  with  the 
world  and  not  quite  so  sure  of  heaven,  lying  with 
hands  stiffened  in  supplication  ;  while  the  ladies, 
of  course,  are  cast  in  the  very  image  of  piety, — 
this  goodly  company  looked  not  unlike  some  ghostly 
band,  kept  here  to  guard  the  sacred  precincts.  In 
the  monuments  every  period  of  mortuary  art  is  rep- 
resented, from  the  era  of  the  rudest  sculpture  to 
the  refined  and  all  too  elegant  creations  of  Flax- 
man, —  "another  lost  mind,"  as  Ruskin  graphically 
describes  this  sculptor.    There  is  the  same  massing 


SALISBURY.  241 

of  picturesque  historic  fates  here  as  at  Winchester ; 
bishops  and  princes,  courtiers  and  nobles,  beauties 
and  frail  ones,  having  passed  the  dark  portal,  their 
effigies  remain  to  commemorate  their  virtues  and 
their  deeds.  Among  the  beauties  lies  the  Countess 
of  Pembroke, — 

"  The  subject  of  all  verse, 
Sidney's  sister,  Pembroke's  mother,"  — 

whose  epitaph  has  been  written  by  a  hand  which 
will  long  outlast  the  limner  or  the  engraver  on 
more  perishable  marble  or  brass. 

To  he  deeply  stirred  by  these  bygone  histories, 
or  even  to  vibrate  to  any  very  profound  impression, 
wlien  under  the  influences  of  the  singularly  cheerful 
atmosphere  which  pervades  this  cathedral,  would 
be,  I  think,  difficult.  It  may  be  owing  to  the  par- 
ticularly light  and  open  character  of  the  architec- 
tural effects,  resulting  from  Wyatt's  changes,  to 
the  absence  of  deep  shadow  in  the  mouldings,  to  a 
certain  sense  of  thinness  and  meagreness  produced 
by  the  severity  of  the  decorations,  and  also,  perhaps, 
to  the  fact  that  there  is  almost  no  old  stained-glass 
remaining  to  insure  enriching,  sobering  tones  ;  but 

certain  it  is  that  Salisbury,  in  spite  of  its  perfec- 

16 


242  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

tions,  fails  in  impressiveness.  It  is  not  that  the 
splendid  edifice  is  lacking  in  grandeur  or  in  dig- 
nity ;  but  the  resplendent  light  which  penetrates 
into  every  portion  of  the  vast  building,  and  the 
extraordinarily  airy,  soaring  character  of  the  ar- 
chitectural lines,  impart  to  this  cathedral  an  un- 
"wontedly  joyous  aspect,  one  as  far  removed  as 
possible  from  solemnity. 

Cathedrals  have  a  very  distinct  and  unique 
climate  of  their  own.  The  atmosphere  of  Salis- 
bury differs  as  widely  from  the  dusky  twilight 
which  underhangs  St.  Peter's  vast  dome  as  noon- 
day differs  from  the  hour  of  the  setting  sun. 

The  blithe  and  active  verger,  who  had  been  busy 
locking  companies  of  tourists  into  the  choir  and 
out  of  the  cloisters  since  our  arrival,  seemed  im- 
bued with  a  spirit  and  temper  which  were  doubt- 
less the  result  of  his  cheerful  surroundings.  He 
had  the  alert  vigor  of  an  American  stock-broker. 
His  brisk  business-like  air  and  the  hospitality  of 
his  smile  were  suggestive  of  a  transatlantic  per- 
sonality, even  reaching  to  the  lengths  of  a  really 
instantaneous  appreciation  of  a  joke. 

Some  tattered  flags  were  suspended  over  a  chan- 
try in  the  choir.    As  the  little  verger  appeared  to 


SALISBURY.  243 

have  forgotten  their  existence,  Boston  asked  their 
history. 

"  Oh,"  he  replied,  with  a  quick,  soft  little  laugh, 
"  I  was  n't  goin'  to  mention  'um,  sir ; "  then  after  a 
pause,  filled  up  with  another  laugh,  "  since  they 
was  to  commemorate  our  victories  in  the  War  of 
1812." 

"We  don't  mind  your  little  victories,"  said 
Boston,  quietly ;  "  but  —  we  don't  see  any  flags  of 
1776."  Whereat  the  red-faced  Britons  composing 
our  party  smiled,  but  rather  feebly,  while  the  bust- 
ling little  verger  laughed  outright. 

The  two  chief  features  in  our  tour  of  inspection 
were  the  chapter-house  and  the  cloisters.  The 
former  is  a  little  model  of  elegance.  Of  a  later 
date  than  the  cathedral,  it  reproduces  the  era 
when  French  geometric  tracery  was  most  in  vogue 
in  England.  Next  in  interest  to  the  charms  of 
refinement  furnished  by  the  light  gracefulness  of 
lines  whose  intersections  are  like  harmonies  in  a 
musical  accord,  are  the  sculptures  filling  the  vous- 
soirs  and  the  spandrels  of  the  arcades.  These  latter, 
even  in  their  restored  condition,  brilliant  as  they 
are  in  modern  paint,  their  decay  having  been 
helped  out  by  the  guessing  of  the  modern  chisel, 


244  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

still  remain  as  among  the  most  interesting  of 
the  specimens  of  early  Gothic  art.  The  sculp- 
tures under  the  windows  within  the  chapter-house 
were  the  effort,  also,  of  the  chisel  to  substitute 
figures  for  the  inspired  pages  of  the  Bible.  Here 
the  Creation,  from  the  group  of  a  very  pre-Raphael- 
ite  Adam  and  Eve  under  a  grotesque  tree  in  the  act 
of  eating  forbidden  things,  to  the  dramatic  scene 
in  which  Moses  is  represented  as  striking  the  rock, 
is  reproduced  with  remarkable  truth  and  earnest- 
ness. The  nationality  of  the  sculptors  is  revealed 
in  the  fact  that  the  vines  in  Noah's  vineyard  are 
trained  on  trellises  in  the  Italian  fashion. 

All  appearance  of  foreign  influence  is  lost  in 
turning  into  the  cloisters.  Here  again  the  inspi- 
ration of  the  true  English  genius  reasserts  itself. 
The  style  of  these  rich  elaborate  arcades,  with 
their  thickly  clustered  columns  and  the  large  tre- 
f oiled  decorations  in  the  unglazed  windows,  marks 
a  later  development  of  the  Early  English  than  that 
seen  in  the  cathedral ;  but  the  same  grave  severity 
of  character  is  retained.  Nothing  more  beautiful 
could  be  imagined  than  one's  walks  around  those 
quadrangular  cloisters.  The  contrast  of  the  long 
gray  arcades  and  the  graceful  ornate  windows  with 


u 


SALISBURY.  245 

the  smooth  green  cloister-garth,  the  patches  of 
blue  sky  framed  in  the  trefoil  openings,  and  the 
dark  shade  cast  on  the  greensward  by  two  fine 
cedars,  the  sole  inhabitants  of  this  marble  airy 
palace,  form  one  of  the  most  beautiful  combina- 
tions conceivable  of  the  delicacy  of  art  and  the 
refinement  of  nature. 

The  Englishman  is  never  more  an  artist  than 
when  to  noble  architectural  effects  he  adds  the 
delicate  yet  perfecting  note  of  a  rural  surrounding. 
Even  the  Italian  may  learn  from  him  in  this.  The 
Italian,  having  been  born  of  a  prodigal  mother, 
leaves  too  much  to  chance  in  his  arrangement  of 
natural  effects ;  but  the  Briton  has  a  master  touch 
in  the  grouping  of  trees  and  in  the  laying  out  of  a 
sward.  He  knows  that  as  art  lives  by  contrasts, 
so  a  great  and  beautiful  edifice  gains  by  the  same 
subtle  law.  Who  but  an  Englisliman  would  have 
had  the  daring  not  only  to  group  those  low  ecclesi- 
astical buildings  in  the  close  so  near  to  the  mag- 
nificent cathedral,  with  its  dwarfing  spire  and 
mountainous  roof,  but  also  to  place  about  the  green 
those  charmingly  lovely  Elizabethan  and  Queen 
Anne  houses,  whose  red  gables  and  brown  and  gray 
roofs  delight  the  eye  with  their  broken  irregular 


240  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

perspectives ;  whose  ivied  walls,  trellised  windows, 
and  tinj  blooming  window-panes,  with  their  sugges- 
tion of  sweet  domestic  uses  and  of  home-life,  blend 
in  perfect  accord  with  the  noble  temple  yonder, 
built  for  a  great  people's  prayers  ? 

The  Englishman,  whose  home  is  his  shrine,  brings 
it  to  his  church's  altar,  that  it  may  rest  within  its 
bosom  and  blessing ;  and  thus  the  cathedral,  in  the 
midst  of  these  blooming  homes,  stands  like  some 
antique  temple  on  whose  steps  garlands  have  been 
strewn. 


STONEH^NGE.  247 


CHAPTER  XI. 

STONEHENGE.  —WARMINSTER.  —  LONGLEAT.  —  FROME. 

'  I  ^HE  afternoon  of  our  departure  from  Salisbury 
was  one  of  radiant  loveliness.  It  was  a  per- 
fect English  day,  one  of  those  that  seem  to  make 
fine  weather  in  England  different  from  any  other. 
There  is  a  peculiar  quality  in  the  best  English 
weather,  something  at  once  rare  and  fine,  from 
which  all  the  vulgar  pomp  of  over-luxuriance  of 
sunshine  and  excess  of  heat  and  warmth  appear 
to  have  been  miraculously  eliminated.  If  Eng- 
land, as  a  country,  is  the  most  perfectly  finished 
agriculturally,  from  the  point  of  view  of  climate  it 
is  assuredly  the  most  highly  civilized.  It  knows 
neither  the  extremes  of  heat  nor  cold ;  it  is  tem- 
perate, restrained,  and  when  in  fine  humor,  never 
loses  its  repose  or  its  reserve.  It  is  the  climate 
of  all  others  to  produce  a  race  of  great  men, — 
men  who  shall  be  as  wise  as  they  are  courageous 
and  as  tender  as  they  are  strong;    for  men,  like 


248  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

nature,  come  to  their  finest  flower  under  temper- 
ate skies. 

The  weather  had  no  reserves  for  us  that  after- 
noon. The  fine  golden  light  fell  like  a  shower 
upon  the  land.  Never  had  English  turf  seemed 
greener,  or  the  hedge-rows  more  fragrant,  or  the 
trees  more  nobly  tall  and  full,  or  the  meadows 
richer  in  tone  and  color.  The  cottage  windows 
were  ablaze  with  carnations.  The  vines  were  laden 
with  their  burden  of  roses.  In  the  fields  the  very 
cattle  felt  the  influences  of  the  fine  soft  air,  of  the 
pure  ethereal  sky,  and  of  the  odors  and  perfume 
which  the  earth  sent  up  as  its  incense  of  praise 
and  worship.  Under  this  sky  of  blue,  in  this 
bath  of  warm  air,  the  oxen  moved  lazily,  luxuri- 
ously, treading  their  deep  furrows  with  an  absent, 
dreamy  look,  their  dull  natures  insensibly  stirred 
by  the  loveliness  and  the  fairness  of  the  hour. 
Men  stopped  their  work  to  lean  on  their  hoes 
and  rakes.  They  shouted  across  a  field  or  two, 
for  in  such  weather  man  has  the  instinct  of  com- 
panionship; there  is  a  compelling  sentiment  in 
such  skies  as  these.  Doubtless,  if  a  girl  or  a 
woman  had  appeared,  we  should  have  witnessed 
a  bit  of  rustic  love-making ;   but  only  the  field- 


STONEHENGE.  249 

hands  and  farmers  were  abroad  in  the  wide  grain- 
fields. 

The  drive  out  from  Salisbury  had  been  through 
a  series  of  green  fields,  parks,  and  meadows.  In 
an  incredibly  short  time  we  had  gained  the  open 
country.  These  rich,  fertile  valley-lands  made 
progress  swift  and  easy.  Our  drive  was  to  include 
a  climb  into  the  hill-country,  up  into  the  famous 
•Salisbury  Plain  that  we  might  see  Stonehenge  ; 
thence  we  should  proceed  to  Warminster,  in  all 
comprising  a  distance  of  eighteen  or  twenty  miles. 
As  there  were  complications  in  the  matter  of 
roads,  we  had  armed  ourselves  with  two  county 
maps  and  a  guide-book,  and  had  taken  besides 
the  additional  precaution  to  receive  minute  and 
particular  directions  from  the  innkeeper  of  the 
"  White  Hart."  We  started  forth  equipped,  in 
confident  certainty  ;  but  behold,  not  five  miles 
from  Salisbury,  we  were  at  a  stand-still.  We  were 
facing  an  opening  of  four  roads.  The  county  maps, 
with  characteristic  impartiality,  gave  us  the  choice 
of  all  four,  as  all  lead  up  into  the  hill  country,  but 
did  not  enlighten  us  as  to  which  one  went  directly 
to  Stonehenge.  The  guide-book  treated  the  subject 
with  the  fine  scorn  of  a  book  whose  pages  were 


250  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

dedicated  to  a  history  of  Druidical  ruins.  Tlie  inn- 
keeper had  been  wiser  than  either,  and  had  not 
even  mentioned  them.  So  we  sat  still  and  dis- 
cussed the  perplexity,  knowing  by  the  interroga- 
tory movement  of  Ballad's  ears  that  he  was  quite 
as  much  in  doubt  as  we. 

Suddenly  a  foot-passenger  appeared  walking  to- 
wards us  on  the  right-hand  road,  —  a  gentleman 
carrying  a  fine  bunch  of  roses  in  his  hand.  As  he- 
drew  near,  to  our  question  as  to  which  was  our 
road  he  responded  with  charming  courtesy,  coming 
close  to  the  carriage  wheel  as  he  answered,  — 

"  Your  road  is  to  the  left  along  the  river ;  but 
farther  on  you  must  turn  to  the  right,  and  still 
farther  to  the  left  again.  If  you  will  allow  me  I 
will  mark  it  out." 

He  laid  the  roses  on  the  travelling-rugs,  drew  a 
pencil  and  a  bit  of  paper  from  his  pocket,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  sketch,  with  remarkable  swiftness  and 
skill,  a  rough  draught  of  the  direction  of  the  road. 
A  moment  later,  barely  waiting  to  receive  our  thanks, 
he  had  lifted  his  hat  and  proceeded  on  his  way. 

"And  there  is  a  tradition  extant  that  English- 
men are  rude ! "  I  exclaimed,  as  Boston  plied  the 
whip  on  Ballad's  dark  coat. 


STONEHENGE.  251 

"Englishmen  are  only  rude  when  they  travel. 
It  is  their  way  of  carrying  war  into  an  enemy's 
country." 

"If  they  leave  their  politeness  at  home,  they 
assuredly  forget  none  of  the  practices  of  the  art ! " 
I  answered,  with  the  soft  tones  of  our  helper's 
London  voice  and  the  readiness  of  his  kindly  im- 
pulse still  strong  upon  me. 

His  sketch  served  us  better  than  the  maps  or 
the  guide-book.  In  an  hour  we  were  toiling  up  the 
first  long  hill  of  the  Salisbury  Plain. 

We  had  passed,  in  an  hour's  space,  into  a  world 
as  changed  as  if  an  enchanter's  wand  had  whirled 
us  from  a  fairy-land  of  verdure  to  the  abode 
of  some  aerial  sprite  dwelling  in  a  desert.  Salis- 
bury Plain  is  an  endless  succession  of  hills,  sans 
verdure,  sans  trees,  sans  water,  sans  anything 
that  grows  save  grass,  and  a  short  stumpy  inferior 
quality  of  that.  Far  as  the  eye  can  reach  it  rests 
on  a  ripple  of  these  low,  barren,  naked  hills.  To 
make  the  descent  of  one  is  to  begin  the  ascent  of 
the  next.  This  unending  succession  of  undulatory 
lines  ends  by  producing  the  impression  of  an  ar- 
rested sea.  It  seems  as  if  earth  at  some  time  in 
her  changeful  history  must  have  been  possessed  of 


252  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

the  fluctuant  instability  of  the  ocean's  turbulent 
element.  Nothing  but  the  sea,  when  possessed  by 
the  demon  of  unrest,  could  be  imagined  as  the  fit- 
ting comparison  to  a  bit  of  earth  so  full  of  strange 
contortions,  of  restless  undulations,  and  of  unstable 
outline. 

The  land  is  as  barren  and  as  uninhabited  as 
the  sea.  There  was  no  sign  of  hamlet  or  hut  in 
all  the  wide  expanse.  The  only  proofs  of  man's 
existence  we  saw  were  those  of  his  labor.  A  few 
hay-mounds  here  and  there  reared  their  pyramidal 
tops  against  the  sky.  A  curse  seems  to  have  been 
laid  on  this  strange  fantastic  tract  of  country, — 
the  curse  of  desolation.  Man,  like  nature,  appears 
to  have  abandoned  these  bald  hills  to  their  fate. 
Desolation  and  sterility  of  foliage  are  so  infrequent 
in  verdant  England  as  to  make  this  striking  note 
of  contrast  the  more  impressive.  On  our  own 
wide  continent  earth  has  a  hundred  different  faces, 
as  she  has  many  climates  and  temperatures ;  but 
the  wonder  grows  that  here,  in  this  compact  little 
island,  there  should  be  room  for  so  many  varied 
aspects  and  such  sharp  transitions.  It  appears, 
however,  as  if  it  were  meant  that  England  should 
be  an  epitome  of  earth,  as  man  is  himself  Nature  in 


STONEHENGE.  253 

miniature ;  and  thus  the  Salisbury  Plain  is  to  be 
taken  as  a  kind  of  sample  specimen  of  the  barren 
and  the  desolate. 

History  and  tradition  come  to  accentuate  the 
emphasis  of  romance  and  weird  unreality  which 
nature  has  outlined.  These  hills  have  been  as  en- 
riched by  the  vicissitudes  of  human  experience  as 
they  are  barren  of  any  reliable  records  which  shall 
reveal  them. 

The  only  rival  of  the  hay-ricks  are  the  barrows,  — 
ancient  burying-mounds,  so  ancient,  indeed,  that 
their  history  is  lost  in  conjecture.  The  multiplicity 
of  their  number  appears  to  prove  at  least  that  only 
an  army  could  have  yielded  dead  enough  to  people 
so  vast  a  burying-ground.  Here  many  a  strong 
Roman  and  fair-haired  Saxon  found  their  long  home. 
The  plain,  for  centuries  before  the  Conquest,  was 
the  natural  battle-ground  of  the  rude  disputants  for 
Britain's  sovereignty.  Celt  and  Roman  alike  had 
early  seen  the  military  value  of  these  heights. 
Camps  and  rude  fortifications  held  the  more  advan- 
tageous positions  long  before,  with  vast  labor  and 
at  huge  outlay  and  cost,  the  great  fortress  of  old 
Sarum  was  built.  If  ever  a  battle-ground  was  in 
keeping  with  the  horrors  of  war,  this  gaunt  skeleton 


254  •  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

of  earth's  beauty  must  have  seemed,  to  even  the 
least  imaginative  Saxon,  a  fitting  arena  for  the 
clash  of  arms  and  for  the  dark  work  of  killing  and 
dying.  Earth  itself  looks  as  if  it  had  been  stripped 
and  then  left  for  dead. 

Suddenly,  as  we  rose  on  the  top  of  one  of  the 
hills,  a  mass  of  strange  ruins  stood  out  against  the 
sky.  Over  the  brow  of  the  next  hill  they  were 
facing  us.  Rude  in  outline,  and  of  giant,  height, 
the  huge  gray  stones,  black  against  the  pale  sky, 
were  as  bare  and  naked  as  the  land  on  wliich  they 
rested.  Here  were  no  flowing  draperies  of  ivy  or 
the  velvet  of  green  moss  to  soften  the  rough  out- 
lines and  to  make  a  bit  of  poetry  out  of  decay. 
The  "hanging  stones"  of  Stonehenge  stand  as  piti- 
lessly exposed  to  the  winds  of  the  bleak  desert  on 
which  they  rest  as  did  the  bleaching  bones  of  the 
rude  warriors  who  found  their  graves  here.  Like 
bones  that  have  been  whitened  in  the  sun,  washed 
to  polished  smoothness  by  the  storm  and  rain,  these 
Cyclopean  stones  bear  evidences  of  the  slow  but 
inevitable  yielding  to  the  elements.  That  king  of 
architects,  the  Tempest,  has  carved  this  barbaric 
heap  into  shapes  to  suit  his  own  fancy ;  he  appears 
to  have  tossed  the  huge  fragments  about  in  riotous 


'If, 


So 


STONEHENGE.  255 

glee,  till  their  present  fantastic  attitudes  and  posi- 
tions have  become  the  despair  of  the  archaeologist. 

On  a  nearer  inspection,  when  we  alighted  and 
walked  around  the  strange  monument,  we  saw  that 
such  intention  as  could  be  read  in  the  position  of 
the  stones  clearly  showed  some  attempt  at  the  for- 
mation of  a  circle  or  a  horse-shoe.  But  whether 
we  believe  with  Inigo  Jones  that  Stonehenge  was 
once  a  Roman  temple,  or  with  the  learned  Dr. 
Charlton  that  it  is  a  Danish  ruin,  or  with  other 
archaeologists  that  the  Druids  here  erected  one  of 
their  puzzling  shrines,  the  ultimate  result  remains 
the  same.  Conjecture  finds  no  solid  ground  on 
which  to  build  the  certainty  of  fact.  For  once,  at 
least,  the  tourist  need  not  bow  his  head  in  igno- 
rance and  humility  ;  his  guesses  are  as  good  as 
those  of  his  superiors  in  that  line.  Whatever 
mystic  rites  in  pagan  temple  of  gods  or  heroes 
Stonehenge  may  have  been  built  to  celebrate, 
whether  the  temple  of  a  religion  which  is  dead 
or  of  a  god  as  forgotten  as  the  believers,  Stone- 
henge and  the  Salisbury  Plain  appeal  to  the 
beholder  as  does  the  Nile  with  its  mysterious  com- 
pany of  the  Sphinxes,  as  solemn  reminders  of  that 
great  workman,  the  voiceless  Past.    Both  belong  to 


256  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

a  time  and  to  an  era  of  whose  life  and  history  we 
have  lost  the  key.  That  deep  organ  chord,  modern 
sympathy,  would  doubtless,  if  furnished  with  the 
clew  to  these  remote,  shadowy  lives  and  alien  be- 
liefs, bridge  the  gulf  and  vibrate  still  to  those  dis- 
tant echoes ;  but  earth,  rather  than  man,  appears 
to  have  retained  the  dread  secret  of  their  fate,  and 
to  have  been  cursed,  in  virtue  of  this  knowledge, 
with  eternal  sterility.  Nature,  whenever  she  has 
a  secret  to  guard,  is  stricken  mute ;  time  having 
found,  doubtless,  that  she  is  possessed  of  the  com- 
mon failing  of  her  sex. 

An  hour  after  leaving  Stonehenge,  it  became  a 
question  whether  or  not  we  also  might  not  end  by 
finding  on  the  Salisbury  Plain  a  fate  similar  to 
other  warriors  who  have  wrestled  with  its  difficul- 
ties and  dangers.  Ballad,  quite  suddenly  and  with- 
out warning,  became  very  queer  in  his  hind  legs. 
He  began  his  vagaries  by  slipping,  on  all  fours, 
down  one  of  the  longer  hills.  This  practice  not 
being  to  his  liking,  he  gave  every  evidence  of 
its  being  his  secret  wish  to  roll  down.  Only  an 
embarrassment  of  harness  and  Boston's  obstinate 
grip  on  the  bit  prevented  his  accomplishing  this 
unexpected  freak. 


STONEHENGE.  257 

"It's  the  hills,  Boston,  and  no  wonder;  there 
has  been  nothing  but  miles  of  them  since  leaving 
Salisbury,"  I  cried,  as  we  both  alighted. 

An  examination  proved  that  it  was  worse  than 
rebelliousness.  It  was  not  the  hills;  it  was  a 
question  of  ankles.  Both  hind  ankles  bent  com- 
pletely beneath  his  weight. 

And  we  were  fifteen  miles  from  Warminster,  our 
destination !  Fifteen  miles,  and  not  a  hut  or  even 
a  hovel  to  be  seen ! 

We  looked  at  each  other  as  the  full  meaning  of 
the  disaster  burst  upon  us.  We  then  sat  down  by 
the  roadside,  and  held  a  consultation,  as  Romans 
and  Britons  had  done  before  us.  Either  the  horse 
was  dead  lame,  or  he  was  dead  tired.  To  settle 
the  question,  it  would  be  best  to  experiment  while 
he  was  still  comparatively  alive.  The  result  of 
our  efforts  proved  that  he  could  walk  perfectly 
well  on  a  level  without  giving  any  symptoms  of 
fatigue ;  also  that  he  could  ascend  a  hill  without 
more  than  his  habitual  protest  against  being  hur- 
ried. But  at  the  first  beginning  of  an  incline  came 
the  terrifying  droop  of  the  hind  quarters,  a  look  in 
his  eyes  as  if  the  world  were  going  from  beneath 

him,   and   that   dread  bending  of  the  hindermost 

17 


258  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

ankles.  The  ankles  on  examination  seemed  to 
be  neither  bruised,  nor  inflamed,  nor  sore  to 
the  touch ;  but  when  going  down-hill,  a  pair  of 
india-rubber  adjustments  would  have  served  him 
quite  as  well. 

However,  we  must  push  on  or  prepare  to  spend 
the  night  on  this  desolate  road.  Push  on  we 
did,  literally.  Boston  pushed  the  carriage  up  the 
steeper  hills,  making  an  improved  brake  of  himself 
going  down,  as  I  tugged  vigorously  at  the  bit. 

This  mode  of  procedure  brought  us,  at  the  end 
of  an  hour,  to  a  rude  little  hamlet  lying  in  a  valley. 
The  hamlet  consisted  of  a  dozen  or  more  huts  and 
thatched  houses  and  a  small  tavern.  The  landlord 
of  the  latter  was  at  our  bridle  before  we  had  fairly 
reached  the  first  house.  The  village  grouped  itself 
in  various  attitudes  of  curiosity  and  interest.  Every 
man  present  felt  of  Ballad's  ankles,  while  every 
woman  freely  gave  her  opinion ;  but  none  could 
tell  us  more  than  we  ourselves  had  discovered. 

"  He 's  not  a-gone  lame,  sur,  and  he  ain't  been 
stung,  nather.  It's  a  bit  of  weakness,  sur,  —  he 
ain't  used  to  the  hills,"  was  the  innkeeper's  reassur- 
ing verdict.  "  He  '11  go  along  safe  now  if  you  ease 
him  a  bit." 


STONEHENGE.  259 

"  All  the  same,  I  'd  rather  stop  here  over  night," 
I  whispered  to  Boston. 

"In  this  wretched  tavern?  Why,  it's  impossi- 
ble," he  answered,  in  what  I  feared  was  an  almost 
audible  tone. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  in  the  least  mind.  Can  you  give  us 
a  room  ? "  I  asked  of  the  innkeeper. 

The  man's  face  fell. 

"  We  'er  full,  ma'am,  thank  ye,  ma'am,"  pulling 
his  forelock;  "we  haven't  a  bed  left." 

At  his  answer  a  woman's  face  emerged  from  a 
side  door,  flourishing  two  arms  up  to  the  elbows 
in  flour  paste. 

"Perhaps  the  Pierces'  would  take  'em,  John," 
she  cried  out ;  then  she  as  suddenly  withdrew. 

"  They  're  quite  respectable  folk  half  a  mile  up 
the  road,  and  takes  travellers  in  now  and  again," 
explained  the  innkeeper. 

"  But  can't  you  take  us  in  yourself  ?  "  I  almost 
pleaded ;  for  the  twilight  was  falling  fast,  and 
Ballad  in  his  present  condition,  and  the  prospect 
of  fifteen  miles  more  of  this  desolate  country  to 
pass  through,  did  not  appeal  to  my  imagination. 

"  I  'm  sorry  enough,  ma'am,  but  we  can't ;  "  and 
his  face  fell  ao-ain. 


260    ■  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

The  crowd,  instead  of  thinning,  had  been  growing 
larger.  Some  farm  hands,  evidently  fresh  from  the 
fields,  and  bearing  equally  strong  evidence  of  hav- 
ing come  fresh  from  something  less  harmless, 
pressed  emphatically  about  the  carriage.  One  or 
two  were  unmistakably  drunk.  One  whom  Bac- 
chus had  rendered  bolder  than  the  rest  pushed  his 
way  towards  me,  and  began  to  sing  a  coarse  song 
in  my  honor.  The  innkeeper  gave  him  a  blow 
that  sent  him  and  the  song  in  the  dirt.  The 
women  snickered,  and  the  men  laughed. 

Evidently  this  was  no  place  for  us,  whether 
Ballad  had  ankles  or  not ;  so  we  whipped  the 
latter's  unoffending  back,  and  with  a  curt  good- 
evening  were  off. 

The  country  was  again  as  desolate  and  hilly  as 
before.  The  moon,  on  which  we  had  relied  as  our 
lantern  after  the  night  should  set  in,  with  the 
usual  obstinacy  of  her  nature  when  counted  on  for 
a  particular  exhibition  of  her  powers  for  shining, 
had  sulkily  retired  behind  a  cloud.  Again  neither 
house  nor  building  was  visible.  Never  was  there 
such  stillness.  The  sound  of  Ballad's  heavy  foot- 
falls and  our  own  voices  made  the  loneliness  and  our 
remoteness  seem  the  more  oppressive.     The  dumb 


WARMINSTER.  261 

companionship  of  sheep  and  cows  or  the  twitter  of 
a  bird's  note  would  have  been  of  infinite  comfort,  to 
reassure  us  that  some  link  of  life  was  near  to  con- 
nect us  with  the  living,  breathing,  active  world ; 
but  nothing  save  the  echoes  of  our  voices  came 
back  to  us,  as  if  even  they  had  failed  to  find  a 
home. 

Reach  Warminster  we  did,  when  the  night  and 
we  were  nearly  spent.  At  last  came  the  cheering 
light  of  the  distant  town.  Earth  took  on  more 
civilized  forms,  and  the  world  looked  very  much  as 
usual,  set  in  the  mould  of  a  small  provincial  town, 
as  we  drove  through  the  Warminster  streets  to  our 
inn. 

An  experienced  hostler  the  next  morning  ex- 
plained the  mystery  of  Ballad's  ankles.  Again  the 
trouble  lay  not  in  the  ankle,  but  in  something  else. 
It  was  in  the  carriage  that  the  true  difficulty  was 
found.  The  latter  had  no  brake.  It  had  been 
built  for  the  level  country  about  Chichester.  But 
for  these  obstinate  hills  a  brake  was  not  only  es- 
sential, but  it  must  be  made  of  extra  grappling- 
power.  The  hostler  advised  our  waiting  until  we 
should  reach  Bath,  as  there  were  no  good  carriage- 
builders  in  Warminster.     The  hills  between  this 


262  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

town  and  Bath,  which  we  hoped  to  reach  in  our 
next  day's  drive,  were,  he  assured  us,  comparatively 
trifling. 

We  gave  Ballad  a  day  and  a  half  in  which  to 
forget  his  late  experience.  When  he  appeared 
early  on  the  following  morning,  he  started  off  with 
such*  merriment  and  light-heartedness  as  proved 
that  only  our  own  lack  of  forethought  had  been 
to  blame  for  the  recent  unpleasantness. 

Our  road  to  Bath  was  to  include  a  drive  through 
Longleat,  the  famous  and  splendid  seat  of  the  Mar 
quis  of  Bath,  and  was  to  pass  through  Frome,  one 
of  the  most  ancient  towns  in  Southern  England. 

Longleat  is  an  easy  distance  from  Warminster ; 
but  the  heat  and  dust  on  the  highway  made  the 
hours  seem  trebly  long.  Once  within  the  gates  of 
the  great  estate,  however,  and  we  experienced  anew 
that  peculiar  sensation  which  we  had  noticed  as 
belonging  to  all  such  parks.  Beneath  the  airy  ave- 
nues of  the  great  trees  we  were  in  another  climate. 
These  vast,  perfectly  finished,  and  carefully  arranged 
estates  have  a  climate  as  distinct  from  the  high- 
way or  plebeian  fields  and  meadows  as  a  great 
cathedral  has  from  a  glaring  little  wayside  chapel. 
Beneath  these  plumed  trees  the  noonday  appears 


LONGLEAT.  263 

never  fully  to  penetrate ;  the  glare  of  hot  spaces 
of  ground  is  unknown,  so  artfully  are  the  laws  of 
landscape-gardening  administered  ;  the  stretches  of 
turf  and  meadows  are  cooled  by  the  well-placed 
groups  of  trees ;  they  are  broken  by  a  fountain 
there,  a  gleaming  pool  beyond,  by  the  rise  and  fall 
of  hills  with  their  trailing  robes  of  shadows,  or 
by  the  heart  of  gloom  that  dwells  in  the  dense 
woods. 

At  Longleat  the  art  of  man  is  surpassed  by  the 
glories  of  nature.  Somersetshire  is  perhaps  the 
loveliest  of  the  English  counties.  The  romantic 
character  of  its  scenery  certainly  places  it  among 
the  most  highly  picturesque ;  and  Longleat  is  set 
in  the  very  heart  of  the  county,  where  the  blended 
loveliness  of  its  hill  and  valley  scenery,  its  super- 
abounding  richness  and  fertility,  appeared  to  have 
focussed  into  highest  beauty.  From  the  celebrated 
Prospect  Hill,  the  chief  glory  of  Longleat  Park, 
the  eye  sweeps  over  a  glorious  landscape ;  the 
country,  dipping  into  the  valleys  beneath  one, 
rises  on  banks  of  hills  beyond  to  the.  very  heavens  ; 
the  noble  trees  on  the  hill  have  been  spared  and 
their  foliage  trimmed  to  form  a  natural  frame  to 
the  enchanting  outlook ;  thus  the  scene  is  broken 


264  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

into  a  series  of  pictures,  a  gallery  whose  master- 
pieces can  be  the  better  grasped  and  enjoyed. 

With  the  inconstancy  of  true  lovers  of  the 
beautiful,  we  decided  that  the  charms  of  Longleat 
far  exceed  the  glories  of  either  Arundel  or  Good- 
wood. "While  it  lacks  the  character  of  feudal 
splendor  peculiar  to  Arundel,  and  the  vast  outlook 
to  be  had  from  the  Goodwood  heights,  which  com- 
mand both  the  sea  and  the  land,  Longleat  has  a 
more  highly  finished  air  of  magnificence  than 
either.  This  effect  is  due  not  alone  to  the  rich 
Somersetshire  setting ;  the  character  of  Longleat 
House  is  in  itself  singularly  impressive.  It  is  both 
a  palace  and  a  home.  To  the  stateliness  of  the 
former  it  adds  that  air  of  domestic  usage  which 
the  Englishman  alone,  of  all  the  inhabitants  of 
great  mansions,  has  been  able  to  impress  on  a 
huge  pile  of  masonry.  The  house  is  nobly  set  on 
a  vast  carpet  of  turf,  in  the  midst  of  glowing  par- 
terres. Its  original  builder.  Sir  John  Thynne,  the 
founder  of  the  house  of  Bath,  went  to  Padua  for 
his  architect,  and  the  present  building  stands  ex- 
ternally as  John  of  Padua  originally  left  it.  It  was 
built  according  to  the  style  then  in  vogue  in  Italy, 
the  Tuscan.     But  in  spite  of  this  most  composite 


LONGLEAT.  265 

of  the  renaissance  styles,  the  architect  has  made 
the  great  house  more  English  than  Italian.  He 
borrowed  his  Doric  columns  and  his  Corin- 
thian capitals  from  Greece,  and  the  plan  of  his 
elevation  from  Italy ;  but  the  whole  as  a  whole 
is  pre-eminently  English.  It  has  a  massive  ele- 
gance and  a  soberness  of  dignity  which  have  noth- 
ing in  common  with  Italian  architecture.  The 
architect  brought  with  him  his  love  for  immensity. 
The  delight  in  the  vast  is  inherent  in  the  Italian, 
whose  buildings  and  churches  must  be  his  refuge 
from  the  torrid  skies  and  the  burning  suns  of  his 
tropical  summer,  and  beneath  whose  roofs  he  seeks 
to  find  the  breadth  and  largeness  of  his  open-air 
spaces.  Longleat  House  is  a  replica  of  the  vast 
Italian  palaces,  whose  walls  seem  to  enclose  acres 
of  space.  Its  glorious  dimensions  make  the  his- 
toric visit  of  George  III.  and  his  queen  with  their 
suite  numbering  forty,  over  a  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  persons  sleeping  within  the  same  house  during 
the  royal  occupancy,  no  very  wonderful  feat  of 
hospitality.  In  view  of  such  a .  multiplicity  of 
windows,  doubtless  each  visitor  found  himself  in 
undisputed  right  of  both  pillows. 

Longleat,  in  the  proud  regalia  of  her  history, 


266  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

boasts  not  only  the  glory  of  entertaining  royalty  ; 
her  fame  is  further  enriched  with  the  shadow  of 
romance,  and  darkened  by  the  stain  of  crime. 
One  of  her  earlier  owners,  Mr.  Thomas  Thynne, 
not  having  come  into  the  world  late  enough  to 
benefit  by  the  wisdom  of  a  recent  philosopher,  com- 
mitted the  indiscretion  of  marrying  a  widow.  That 
she  was  beautiful  goes  without  saying.  That  she 
was  young  —  her  previous  lord,  the  Earl  of  Ogle, 
leaving  her  to  learn  all  the  wiles  of  widowhood  at 
the  tender  age  of  twelve  —  relieves  us  of  the  ne- 
cessity of  pressing  indignation  to  the  point  of  abhor- 
rence. In  three  years  the  lovely  if  youthful  Lady 
Ogle  had  learned  all  the  arts  which  belonged  to  her 
condition.  She  had  succeeded  in  ensnaring  the 
affections  of  the  owner  of  Longleat,  whom  she 
married,  reserving,  however,  all  the  joys  of  her 
favor  for  a  rival,  a  noble  Swedish  count.  Long- 
leat never  saw  its  new-made  mistress.  The  bride, 
after  the  marriage  ceremony,  in  spite  of  the  mag- 
nificent preparations  made  at  Longleat  for  her 
reception,  suddenly  developed  a  taste  for  a  wedding 
journey.  There  could  have  been  nothing  very  sin- 
gular in  so  innocent  a  preference  in  a  young  beauty, 
who  presumably  wished  to  parade  her  happiness 


LONGLEAT.  267 

and  her  new  gowns  before  the  world.  But  when 
she  went  abroad  with  her  trousseau,  leaving  the 
groom  behind  to  enjoy  the  bridal  arches  and  the 
Longleat  festivities  alone,  her  conduct,  by  her  own 
sex  at  least,  was  adjudged  as  savoring  of  eccen- 
tricity. When,  a  short  time  after,  the  poor  aban- 
doned gentleman  was  shot  and  killed  by  four  Polish 
bullets  instigated  by  Swedish  hatred  and  Swedish 
gold,  the  clew  to  the  lady's  erratic  impulses  ap- 
peared to  have  been  found.  But  crime,  it  was  dis- 
covered, was  no  better  passport  to  the  affections  of 
this  singular,  twice-widowed  beauty  than  had  been 
her  murdered  husband's  ardor.  The  Swedish  Count 
w^as  dismissed,  while  she  turned  for  solace  to  the 
Duke  of  Somerset,  drowning  remorse,  if  so  deep  a 
passion  ever  stirred  the  lady's  becalmed  soul,  in  the 
intoxications  of  the  political  intrigues  which  made 
Queen  Anne's  Court  so  admirable  an  arena  for 
restless  spirits. 

No  shadow  of  crime  or  trace  of  tragedy  rested 
on  the  great  house  on  that  brilliant  morning,  as 
we  turned  to  take  our  last  look  at  its  splendor 
and  beauty.  As  if  to  dissipate  even  the  mem- 
ory of  that  dark  occurrence,  the  sun  had  cleared 
the   skies  of  the   wind-clouds,   and  was   pouring 


268  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

a  flood  of  golden-dusted  light  over  the  huge  gray 
pile. 

There  was  fully  an  hour's  driving  before  we  were 
out  of  the  Longleat  Park,  thickly  peopled  with  its 
herds  of  deer  and  cattle  scattered  through  its  great 
lawns  and  woods ;  but  an  hour  was  none  too  long  to 
linger  over  those  seven  miles  of  garden  loveliness. 

The  remainder  of  the  forenoon's  drive  to  Frome 
was  a  continuation  of  the  verdant  valleys  and  the 
richly  wooded  uplands  which  we  found  made  the 
charm  and  the  picturesqueness  of  this  beautiful 
Somersetshire  County. 

At  Frome  there  was  to  be  a  long  midday  halt 
and  rest.  We  had  prepared  ourselves  for  a  vast 
outlay  of  admiration,  since  all  early  English  his- 
tory teems  with  recitals  of  Frome's  importance  and 
activity  in  early  Celt  and  Norman  days.  We  had 
counted  on  finding  the  Frome  streets  lined  with 
picturesque  houses  and  rich  in  an  antique  archi- 
tectural setting.  But  the  Frome  of  the  dark 
ages  must  have  disappeared  with  its  ancient 
importance  and  dignity.  Modern  Frome  we  found 
chiefly  a  little  town  full  of  little  shops,  with  only 
a  series  of  hilly  streets  to  give  it  even  a  mod- 
erately unique  appearance.     The  centre  of  interest 


FROME.  269 

was  no  farther  away  than  our  inn.  On  our 
arrival  we  found  an  unwonted  bustle  and  ac- 
tivity. There  was  a  flying  about  of  white-capped 
chambermaids  and  an  agitation  in  the  demeanor 
of  the  solitary  waiter  which  announced  at  once 
that  the  extraordinary  was  about  to  take  place.  It 
was  with  difficulty  that  we  succeeded  in  awaking 
even  a  response  to  our  appeal  for  luncheon.  Oh  yes, 
they  might  be  able  to  give  us  a  luncheon  if  we 
could  wait ;  in  an  hour  maybe,  or  perhaps  even 
later.  Meanwhile  we  could  sit  in  the  smaller  coffee- 
room.  At  high  noon,  with  an  English  sun  heated 
to  summer  heat,  with  a  drooping  horse  before  one 
and  a  hungry  gnawing  within,  one  is  not  disposed 
to  be  as  actively  belligerent  against  fate  as  when 
confronted  with  such  trying  circumstances  under 
less  helpless  conditions.  We  meekly  gave  signs  of 
accepting  our  destiny.  Our  humility,  however,  met 
with  its  reward.  The  landlady  suddenly  appeared 
in  the  large  hall,  resplendent  in  pink  ribbons  and  a 
rustling  black  silk,  and  was  immediately  touched 
with  the  spectacle  of  our  dejectedness. 

"  Mary,  send  up  some  cold  'am  and  beer  and  the 
muffins  immediately ;  they  won't  be  'ere  yet.  —  Hit 's 
a  party,  ma'am,"  she  continued,  addressing  me  in 


270  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

an  undertone  of  subdued  excitement, "  as  his  comin' ; 
hit's  the, choir  from  the  town,  over  heighty;  and 
perhaps  you'd  like  to  see  the  tables,  ma'am,  while 
your  luncheon 's  being  spread."  She  led  the  way 
with  smiling,  triumphant  complacency. 

The  tables  were,  in  truth,  a  fine  sight.  There 
were  four  long  dazzlingly  white  cloths  spread  on 
tables  forming  a  quadrangle.  Fine  old  shapes  of 
antique  glass  and  silver  gleamed  among  the  dressed 
hams,  the  tongues,  the  turkeys,  the  jellies  and  sal- 
ads, each  dish  brave  in  its  pretty  toilet  of  curled 
papers. 

"There's  heighty  covers  laid,  has  you  see," 
smiled  the  landlady,  as  she  surveyed  the  spectacle 
with  the  eye  of  a  general  who  had  massed  her 
forces  and  to  whom  the  victory  was  already  a  fore- 
gone conclusion ;  "  they  're  hall  from  one  church,  — 
the  choir,  and  the  wardens  an'  their  wives,  and  the 
vicar  himself  and  his  lady,  —  and  there  they  come 
now." 

"We  stepped  out  on  the  balcony  leading  from  our 
own  modest  coffee-room  to  look  at  the  "  heighty." 
The  vicar  and  his  lady  were  very  easily  picked  out, 
and  their  identity  establislied.  The  rest  of  the  com- 
pany were  most  unmistakably  middle-class ;  farmers, 


FROME.  271 

smaller  gentry,  and  provincial  tradesmen  com- 
posed the  orderly  mass  that  clambered  out  of  the 
high  drags  and  the  long  open  wagons.  The  com- 
pany embraced  all  ages,  from  the  very  youthful 
maidens  who  turned  crimson  with  bashful  self- 
consciousness  as  the  equally  crimson  youths  helped 
them  to  alight,  to  the  venerable  grandame  and 
grandsire  whose  tottering  steps  were  steadied  by 
strong  arms  and  filial  care.  Singularly  enough, 
most  of  these  people  had  a  strangely  familiar  look. 
We  were  almost  certain  we  had  met  most  of  their 
faces  before,  as,  in  truth,  we  had.  The  faces,  or 
rather  their  prototypes,  belonged  to  the  owners  of 
the  quiet  homesteads  and  the  larger  richer  farms 
we  had  passed  so  often  in  our  driving.  Here  were 
the  stout  motherly  faces,  a  trifle  redder  and  over- 
heated now,  and  not  so  attractive  in  their  over- 
trimmed  bonnets  as  in  the  snowy  caps,  beneath 
which  their  calm  eyes  were  lifted  from  the  stocking- 
darning  as  Ballad's  crisp  footfall  startled  their 
ear.  Here  also  were  the  old  people,  very  smart  in 
apparel,  but  quite  as  tottering  and  infirm  as  when 
they  hobbled  to  the  door-sill  to  see  us  pass.  The 
younger  girls  and  women  were  less  recognizable 
in  their  prim  Sunday  attire,  and  assuredly  not  half 


272  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

SO  pretty  as  in  their  every-day  costume  of  broad 
garden  hat  and  apron. 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  orderly  and 
soberly  decorous  than  the  behavior  of  the  little 
congregation.  Whether  it  was  that  the  presence 
of  the  wardens  and  the  vicar  had  a  depressing 
effect,  or  whether  this  melancholy  little  band  were 
merely  suffering  from  the  constitutional  national 
malady, —  that  habitual  dreary  dulness  which  per- 
vades all  English  holidays, — it  is  certain  that  if  the 
success  of  the  present  occasion  were  to  be  gauged 
by  its  festival  aspect,  even  its  projector  must  have 
been  haunted  by  the  dark  suspicion  that  it  was 
resulting  in  failure.  Since,  however,  the  English- 
man has  not  been  brought  up  to  associate  the  act 
of  taking  a  holiday  with  the  idea  of  pleasure,  these 
loyal  sons  of  the  Church  were  doubtless  munching 
tarts  and  genteelly  disposing  of  ham  without  a 
suspicion  that  silence  was  not  the  most  ideal  com- 
pliment to  their  excellence.  Even  the  many  tank- 
ards of  ale  and  beer  which  we  saw  going  the  rounds 
of  the  table  appeared  to  have  little  appreciable 
effect  on  the  flow  of  talk.  Towards  the  last  there 
did  come  from  behind  the  swinging  doors  a  sub- 
dued murmur  of  chit-chat,  enlivened  with  a  buzz 


FROME.  273 

of  short  low  laughter.  But  to  the  end  the  awful 
presence  of  the  vicar  appeared  to  have  its  re- 
straining effect ;  the  talk  was  pitched  to  a  church 
whisper. 

I  am  disposed  to  believe  that  to  our  own  soil 
have  flown  the  wholesome  heartiness,  vivacious  ex- 
uberance, and  louder-tongued  jollity  in  which  older, 
gayer  England  was  wont  to  indulge  in  those  days 
when  it  seasoned  its  cake  with  that  heartiness 
of  enjoyment  which  won  it  its  name  of  "  merrie 
England."  Our  American  way  of  taking  pleasure 
may  have  a  touch  of  plebeian  plainness  about  it, 
considered  from  the  standard  of  English  reticence 
and  self-restraint ;  but  laughter  —  broad,  strong, 
deep  laughter  —  is  one  of  the  best  national  habits 
for  a  growing  nation  to  cultivatCo  A  people  that 
laugh  are  a  people  who  have  little  to  fear  from 
tyrants  or  despots,  in  whatever  form  they  may 
come.  An  American  joke  keeps  the  political  sky 
clear. 


18 


274  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

BATH. 

TTOR  several  miles  before  reaching  Bath  on  our 
way  out  of  Frome,  Ballad  had  begun  forcibly 
to  resent  the  deceits  practised  on  him  by  the 
suave  hostler  at  "Warminster.  The  hills,  far 
from  being  trifling,  might  more  truthfully  liave 
been  described  as  formidable.  What  to  Boston's 
and  my  own  enraptured  sight  was  a  landscape 
rich  in  an  altogether  unexpected  originality  of 
character  and  formation, — steep  conelike  hills  dip- 
ping into  slits  of  valleys,  hamlets  and  villages 
perched  on  the  slanting  inclines  like  nosegays  on 
an  Alpine-peaked  hat,  miniature  waterfalls  which 
looked  as  if  turned  on  to  order,  a  shining  river 
running  through  the  sinuous  valley  as  if  it  were  a 
liquid  snake,  quaint  little  chapels  hanging  in  mid- 
air, and  castles  over  whose  battlemented  walls  we 
rode  serenely,  —  a  country,  in  a  word,  strangely 
fantastic    for    orderly,   sober  England,  —  was  to 


BATH.  275 

Ballad's  weary  and  incompetent  ankles  only  a  land 
big  with  potentialities  of  suffering. 

He  had  made  a  struggle,  and  a  brave  one,  to  put 
his  best  foot  forward.  He  had  had  desperate  spurts 
of  energy  going  up  the  hills,  ending  in  a  complete 
collapse  going  down.  The  collapse  had  finally 
ended  in  rebellion.  He  refused  even  to  attempt 
to  propel  his  tired  body  an  inch  farther.  Natu- 
rally, forcible  measures  were  resorted  to ;  but  the 
strokes  of  the  whip  moved  him  as  little  as  the  most 
alluring  entreaties.  His  feet  remained  rooted  to 
the  ground. 

We  were  half-way  down  the  long  and  truly  mag- 
nificent descent  of  Coombe  Down,  one  of  the  higher 
hills  overhanging  Bath.  The  city  lay  beneath  us, 
—  we  could  overlook  its  chimney-pots  ;  but  we  had 
still  before  us  at  least  two  miles  of  steep  down-hill 
work,  and  Ballad  was  beginning  to  show  deter- 
mined signs  of  his  desire  to  lie  down  and  die  by 
the  roadside.  Die  we  were  resolved  he  should  not, 
at  least  not  without  the  formalities  of  an  attending 
physician  and  the  privacy  of  a  stable.  Some  means 
must  be  found  to  keep  him  on  his  legs. 

"  I  never  heard  of  a  horse  dying  of  weak  ankles, 
did  you  ?  "  I  asked,  a  trifle  nervously,  as  our  poor 


276  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

beast  again  made  a  futile  effort  to  take  a  little 
wayside  repose. 

Boston  jerked  the  bit  with  such  force  that 
Ballad  came  very  near  performing  a  somersault 
in  the  air  instead  of  accomplishing  his  own  lazier 
intention. 

"  No,  I  never  did ;  but  it  would  be  just  our  luck 
to  have  him  invent  a  new  way  out  of  life.  Get 
down,  can  you,  alone  ?  and  can  you  take  out  a  bag 
or  two  ?  The  carriage  must  be  lightened,  and  we 
must  walk.  You  had  better  take  the  whip,  and  I  '11 
lug  the  bags." 

Such  was  our  entrance  into  Bath !  —  Boston  lead- 
ing Ballad  on  one  side,  with  the  bags  in  the  other 
hand,  as  I  plied  the  poor  creature  with  the  whip. 

It  would  have  been  funny  even  to  us,  as  an 
incident  in  our  experience,  I  think,  weary  and  an- 
noyed as  we  were ;  but  what  prevented  our  com- 
plete appreciation  of  the  humorous  side  of  the 
situation  was  the  fact  that  the  spectacle  we  pre- 
sented evidently  appealed  to  the  humor  of  the 
passers-by.  The  people,  indeed,  as  they  passed, 
were  at  no  pains  to  conceal  their  entire  appre- 
ciation of  the  joke.  Some  inconsiderate  draymen 
and  farmers  laughed  outright.     Children  came  to 


BATH.  277 

the  gateways  and  snickered.  The  usual  super- 
fluity of  street  gamin  shrieked  and  whistled  in 
shrill  glee.  They  attempted  to  form  in  line,  as  rear- ' 
guard.  Ballad  had  to  be  temporarily  abandoned 
to  his  fate,  as  Boston  plied  the  whip  lightly  about 
more  responsive  legs  and  ankles. 

It  is  never  the  mocking  jeers  or  the  derisive 
laughter  of  the  class  below  one  which  really  hurts. 
What  we  term  our  own  world  alone  has  the  power 
to  inflict  the  deepest  pain.  What  was  really  hard 
to  bear  were  the  suppressed  smiles  of  the  staid 
dowagers  and  the  more  open  mirth  of  the  large- 
hatted  young  ladies,  who  were  out  taking  their 
late  afternoon  drive ;  for  Bath  at  all  seasons  of  the 
year,  it  appeared,  is  the  abode  of  fashion.  At  the 
end  of  a  half-hour  I  began  to  feel  oppressively 
warm. 

"  Boston,  would  you  mind  holding  the  whip  ? 
I  think  he'll  go  now  without  being  scourged  all 
the  time  j  the  paving-stones  seem  to  help  him." 

Once  free,  it  was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world  to  take  to  the  sidewalk.  Once  there,  it 
was  the  work  of  an  instant  to  open  a  parasol. 
I  had  a  comfortable  sense  now  of  having  returned 
to  the  outward  decencies  of  life.     I  even  looked  in 


278  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

at  the  shop  windows,  and  took  a  flitting  review  of 
the  Bath  fashions.  But  in  a  weak  moment  I  looked 
back. 

Boston  was  still  leading  Ballad  by  the  bit.  Both 
were  dusty,  weary,  and  dejectedly  travel-worn. 
The  rubber  cover  was  white  with  the  pulverized 
macadam  of  the  roadway.  The  bags  were  lopping 
over,  and  the  umbrellas  were  sprawling  about  as  if 
just  recovering  from  an  orgie.  It  was,  in  truth, 
a  most  disreputable-looking  trap.  In  another  in- 
stant I  had  returned  to  my  post.  One  look  at 
Boston's  face,  and  remorse  and  contrition  tri- 
umphed. I  flew  at  the  bags  with  that  ardor  which 
is  born  of  repentance. 

"  At  least  I  can  carry  these ;  it  can't  be  very  far 
now.  Do  you  think  he  will  last  another  half- 
hour?" 

Boston  was  merciful.  His  quiver  was  full,  but 
he  did  not  make  use  of  even  his  tiniest  arrow. 
He  could  not,  however,  wholly  conceal  the  smile 
which  came  when  I  resumed  my  place  at  Ballad's 
side,  thus  publicly  acknowledging  my  renewal  of 
relationship  with  them. 

The  remainder  of  the  journey  through  the  slip- 
pery, muddy  Bath  streets  was  accomplished  under 


BATH.  279 

agonies  of  calculation.  Was  it  best  to  urge  Bal- 
lad on  to  the  hotel,  and  would  he  hold  together 
as  a  whole ;  or  would  it  be  wiser  to  have  him 
and  the  carriage  part  company,  and  place  both 
under  shelter  at  the  nearest  hostelry,  while  we 
proceeded  on  our  way  ?  Some  latent  potentiality 
of  will-force  must  have  come  to  the  rescue  of 
our  poor  worn-out  beast ;  for  in  spite  of  repeated 
slippings  and  fallings,  in  spite  of  renewed  ex- 
pression of  his  overmastering  desire  to  lie  down 
and  be  at  rest.  Ballad  did  nevertheless  reach  the 
imposing  faQade  of  the  Grand  Pump  Room  Hotel. 
It  was  one  of  those  moments  when  the  sense  of 
deliverance  is  strong  enough  to  assume,  uncon- 
sciously, the  form  of  a  vague  prayerful  utterance. 

In  entering  a  city  we  had  returned  to  all  the 
stirring  activities  of  city  life.  Bath  was  so  real  a 
city  that  it  actually  possessed  horse-cars.  Since 
leaving  London  we  had  been  as  free  from  their 
monotonous  jingling  as  one  can  hope  to  be  in  a 
world  now  bent  on  rapid  locomotion ;  but  here 
again  were  these  ugliest  and  most  useful  of  con- 
veyances, as  crowded  with  citizens  as  is  compatible 
with  an  Englishman's  sense  of  justice. 

We  decided  that  Bath,  in  spite  of  its  English- 


280    "  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

looking  horse-cars,  was  the  most  foreign-looking 
city  we  had  seen  on  English  soil.  It  had  a  sur- 
prisingly continental  air.  It  had  the  charm  of  the 
unforeseen,  the  attraction  of  the  unexpected.  Who 
would  have  thought  of  building  a  city  in  so  small 
a  valley,  —  a  valley  so  narrow  that  its  streets  must 
needs  run  up  the  hills,  like  vines  along  a  lattice  ? 
The  least  serious-minded  inhabitant  would  have 
laughed  such  a  plan  to  scorn.  Yet  here  it  is,  — 
this  charming,  audacious  lovely  little  city, — lying 
as  contentedly  in  its  valley  as  a  rose  in  the  hollow 
of  a  cup.  The  hills  appear  to  step  directly  out  of 
its  streets.  The  streets,  nothing  daunted,  climb 
diligently  after  them,  till  at  a  distance  the  land- 
scape ends  by  describing  those  amazing  perspec- 
tives so  abundantly  introduced  by  Albrecht  Diirer 
into  his  drawings,  where  hill  and  city  seem  about 
to  overwhelm  the  subjects  in  the  foreground. 
Here  are  the  same  quaint  juxtapositions,  —  the 
carefully  tilled  patches  of  ground,  interspersed  with 
stiff  facades,  and  a  spire  now  and  then  to  break 
the  uniformity.  In  Bath  this  combination  of  alti- 
tudes and  depressions  is  finely  alternated  with  the 
majestic  aspect  of  the  remoter  hills. 

The   street  life   of  the   city  has    a  compelling 


BATH  281 

magnetic  attraction.  One's  walks  become  a  suc- 
cession of  surprises  and  discoveries.  No  one  street 
is  like  another.  If  one  thoroughfare  be  on  a  com- 
parative level,  the  next  will  seem  to  run  straight 
up  into  the  sky,  or  will  take  an  abrupt  French 
leave,  disappearing  round  a  corner  to  plunge  into 
some  subterranean  depth.  The  question  of  just  how 
much  there  is  of  interest  for  the  tourist  in  Bath 
comes,  in  the  end,  to  depend  very  much  on  whether 
or  not  he  is  a  good  walker.  One  may  safely  intrust 
one's  self  to  the  more  luxurious  methods  of  loco- 
motion, for  a  reviewing  of  the  fine  panoramic 
effects  of  the  outlying  hills ;  but  to  learn  all  the 
secrets  which  this  bewildering  little  city  holds, 
one  must  have  the  strength  and  the  ardor  of  the 
pedestrian. 

We  were  waiting  for  the  brake  to  be  made,  and 
also  to  see  what  effect  a  temporary  rest  might 
have  upon  Ballad.  In  the  mean  time  our  leisure 
was  employed  in  making  a  number  of  interesting 
discoveries.  Among  other  curiosities,  we  had 
stumbled  on  a  nest  of  enticing  little  alley-ways  in 
the  older  portion  of  the  town.  Dark,  mysterious- 
looking  passages,  and  queer,  quaint  worn  steps 
led  into  still  quainter  streets ;   a  whole  serial,  in 


282  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

fact,  of  old-time  fragments  and  historic  suggestive- 
ness,  we  found,  could  be  picked  up  in  instalments 
along  these  out-of-the-way  paths.  Houses  and 
streets  seemed  made  to  order  for  the  most  lurid 
tragedy-novelist's  imaginative  requirements.  Mys- 
terious disappearances  could  be  effected  along 
these  murderous-looking  streets  with  a  turn  of  the 
hand,  as  it  were,  without  even  the  usual  formality 
of  a  trap-door.  The  houses,  built  on  top  of  one 
another,  looked  as  if  hung  out  to  dry  on  the  hill- 
sides; the  secrets  they  held  being  doubtless  in 
need  of  an  airing.  At  twilight  or  in  the  dark  of 
early  night  the  most  innocent  shape,  as  it  flitted 
through  the  evil-minded  gloom,  took  on  a  tragic 
aspect ;  its  very  shadow  seemed  to  pursue  it  with 
fiendish  intent.  Such  spectral  charms  made  the 
more  modern  parts  of  the  city  —  the  severer 
facades  of  the  Royal  Crescent  —  seem  a  fable. 
In  these  dingy  byways  the  past  lost  its  vague 
dimness,  and  seemed  alive  again,  as  if  reborn 
under  the  touch  of  some  conjurer's  wand. 

Under  the  glare  of  broad  noonday  still  another 
phase  of  this  older  city's  life  revealed  itself.  As 
if  to  keep  the  streets  and  houses  in  countenance,  a 
remnant  of  hardier,  coarser  England  appeared  to 


BATH.  283 

have  survived  the  transformations  of  the  last  few 
centuries.  To  look  on  the  strong  brutalized  faces 
of  the  men  who  fill  these  streets  with  gossiping 
groups  at  twilight,  gathering  in  front  of  the  open 
butchers'  stalls,  where  the  blood-flowing  on  warm 
days  in  no  wise  appears  to  disturb  the  sensibilities 
of  the  hardy  stomachs;  to  listen  to  the  men's 
deep  rough  laughter  and  their  burly  speech, — is  to 
realize  that  England,  like  all  old  countries,  hides 
in  her  forgotten  pockets  survivors  still  of  that  tough 
mediaeval  people,  the  roysterers  of  King  Henry 
VIII.'s  reign  or  the  fighters  of  Elizabethan  days, 
to  whom  contact  with  the  more  brutal  sides  of  life 
presents  no  horrors.  Nerves  and  sensibilities  are 
a  modern  growth.  We  of  the  nineteenth  century 
are  the  highly  strung  instruments,  fitted  to  be 
played  upon  by  steam-whistles,  railways,  mowing- 
machines,  pistol-shots,  and  the  racking  noise  of 
great  cities.  In  our  day  ingenious  man  is  the  in- 
ventor of  his  own  torture.  In  the  Middle  Ages 
the  pleasing  task  of  testing  to  what  lengths  human 
endurance  could  go  was  wisely  left  to  the  rack  and 
to  persecution-workers.  Outside  of  dungeons  and 
dark  council-chambers,  life  was  lived  with  keen 
animal    ferocity   of    enjoyment.      In    looking    on 


284  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

this  remnant  of  that  earlier  system,  in  gazing  on 
these  giant  frames  and  ox-like  faces,  with  features 
and  expression  born  of  strong  appetites  and  the 
latent  strength  that  comes  of  surplus  muscle,  one 
is  led  to  conjecture  whether,  after  all,  our  modern 
diseases  of  exposed  nerves  and  over-active  sensibil- 
ities are  not  questionable  gains.  But  the  man  who 
is  great  enough  to  turn  back  to  form  himself  on 
these  robust  models,  and  who  will  contribute  his 
experiments  in  primitive  brutality  to  our  inert  age, 
is  still  to  be  born.  The  modern  reformer  is  no 
better  than  the  rest  of  us ;  he  persists  in  believing 
in  the  future,  —  that  poor  over-mortgaged  country, 
that  issues  to  each  one  of  us  such  unlimited  letters 
of  credit. 

In  sharp  contrast  with  the  physical  hardihood  to 
be  seen  in  the  Bath  slums  is  the  invalidism  that 
from  time  immemorial  has  been  the  raison  d'etre 
of  Bath.  Fashionable  Bath  is  nothing  if  not  the 
"city  of  the  sick  man."  All  the  life  of  the  little 
city  localizes  itself  about  the  springs  and  the  baths. 
The  invalid's  throne  is  his  Bath  chair,  and  he  is 
the  most  peripatetic  of  monarchs.  In  whatever 
part  of  the  town  one  may  chance  to  be,  one  meets 
two  lines  of  invalids,  —  a  slow  solemn  procession  of 


BATH.  .  285 

believers  going  up  in  hope  and  faith  to  the  Temple 
of  Hygeia,  the  Grand  Pump  Room,  and  another  line 
of  pilgrims  returning  from  the  same.  In  the  open 
square  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  on  which  the  Pump 
Room  and  the  Abhey  Church  face,  the  little  army 
of  sufferers  meet  to  saunter,  lounge,  and  gossip. 
The  Bath  chairs  are  drawn  up  in  line  against  the 
buildings  facing  on  the  square.  With  their  hoods 
open,  they  look  not  unlike  so  many  yawning 
graves.  He  who  enters  one,  indeed,  appears  to 
have  already  opened  tacit  negotiations  with  the 
dread  monster.  But  Englishmen  would  not  be 
Britons  if  they  failed  in  heroism  even  under  the 
hood  of  one  of  these  dismal  hearses.  The  foxes 
of  pain  and  anguish  may  be  gnawing  their  vitals, 
but  English  pluck  keeps  bravery  well  up  in  front. 
To  watch  gouty  and  rheumatic  England  sipping 
relief  from  the  steaming  glasses  in  the  Pump 
Room  is  a  lesson  in  heroism.  It  is  a  regiment 
of  soldiers  performing  a  drill  under  orders.  It 
is  only  the  limp  that  betrays  any  evidence  of 
suffering.  The  faces  are  as  impassive  and  as 
immobile  as  so  many  masks. 

On  the  faces  of  the  wives  and  daughters  of  these 
heroic  martyrs  a  fine  observer  might  detect  quite  an- 


286  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

other  expression.  It  is  the  look  of  those  who  also 
suffer  and  endure ;  but  the  mingling  of  pain  and 
courage  which  compose  it  is  of  a  very  different  char- 
acter. It  is  one  of  enforced  submission.  Even  a 
hero  must  draw  his  line  of  repression  somewhere. 
An  Englishman  considerately  draws  it  at  his  own 
family.  The  world  must  be  met  with  a  Spartan 
face,  but  the  true  Briton  provides  himself  with  a 
family  pillow  on  which  to  do  his  private  groaning. 
Thus  gout  is  turned  into  a  direct  spiritualizing 
agency,  and  the  submissive  expression  of  angelic 
patience  and  sweetness  which  the  rest  of  the  world 
so  admires  in  English  wives  is  a  product  of  home 
manufacture  conducted  on  the  strictest  principles 
of  economy. 

In  a  circular  recess  of  the  Grand  Pump  Room  is 
a  statue  of  one  of  the  two  monarchs  who  have 
made  Bath  famous.  This  one  is  the  statue  of  its 
last  and  uncrowned  king,  Richard  Nash.  In  the 
King's  Bath  yonder  is  the  effigy  of  its  first  ruler, 
King  Bladud.  This  latter  is  doubtless  a  most 
accurate  reproduction  of  the  original,  since  beneath 
the  statue  runs  an  inscription  to  the  effect  that 
"  he  was  the  founder  of  these  baths  863  years  be- 
fore Christ."     The  statue  of  one  king  is  aureoled 


BATH.  287 

with  legend  and  mystery ;  the  effigy  of  the  other 
with  the  halo  which  belongs  to  leadership,  by  what- 
ever name  it  is  known.  The  two  kings  between 
them  mark  the  Alpha  and  the  Omega  of  Bath  gran- 
deur. The  periods  are  nearly  two  thousand  years 
apart ;  yet,  with  the  exception  of  a  brief  and  tem- 
porary period  of  illumination,  Bath  may  be  said 
only  truly  to  have  lived  at  these  two  widely  distant 
eras.  Its  one  other  period  of  fitful  activity  was 
during  the  Roman  occupation. 

It  is  impossible  to  resist  at  times  the  impulse 
to  insist  on  the  analogy  existing  between  features 
and  character,  not  alone  in  man,  but  in  that  more 
mysterious  portion  of  the  universe  which  we  call 
Nature.  The  history  of  some  countries  seems 
written  on  their  landscape.  That  cities  should 
reflect  the  character  and  the  lives  of  the  men  who 
inhabit  them  is  scarcely  to  be  wondered  at,  since, 
as  muscle  is  carved  by  mind,  so  is  the  outward 
aspect  of  a  city  determined  by  the  life  that  peo- 
ples its  thoroughfares.  Nature,  at  times,  seems 
also  to  lend  herself  to  this  mute  handwriting.  To 
look,  for  instance,  on  these  Somersetshire  hills 
about  Bath, — at  their  sudden  depressions  and  their 
impulsive  heights  of  exaltation,  —  at  the  sinuous. 


288  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

variable,  wayward  little  river  running  through  its 
valley,  at  the  sharp  contrast  existing  between  the 
richly  wooded  uplands  and  the  naked  barrenness  of 
some  of  the  hill-tops,  at  the  mingled  secrecy  and 
abandonment  of  the  landscape,  the  confidence  of  the 
forests  and  the  betrayal  of  the  open  meadows, — 
is  to  divine  that  the  adventures  in  experience  of 
such  a  landscape  have  been  a  history  richly  di- 
versified by  incident  and  romance.  The  prose  of 
fact,  for  once,  comes  to  sustain  the  frail  poetry  of 
intuition. 

Bath  owes  much  of  its  varied  and  extraordinary 
history  to  its  exceptional  situation.  Geograph- 
ically, it  had  been  gloriously  endowed  at  its  birth. 
Besides  its  beauty  it  has  possessed  an  indefinable 
charm  for  mankind.  Some  cities  possess  such  a 
magnetic  potency.  Man  appears  to  divine  their 
existence  wherever  he  may  dwell.  He  can  no 
more  resist  seeking  them  out,  dwelling  in  them, 
and  beautifying  them,  than  he  can  escape  the  fated 
fascination  of  any  other  of  the  irresistible  forces  of 
the  universe.  Bath  has  been  from  the  dawn  of 
history  such  a  little  magnet.  Men  have  sought  her 
out,  here  in  her  deep  hollow,  begirt  by  her  thermal 
springs ;   they  have  brought  their  gods  and  their 


BATH.  289 

families ;  they  have  built  baths  and  temples ;  they 
have  lived  and  loved  and  roamed  among  her  hills 
and  along  her  lovely  valleys ;  and  then  they  have 
as  incontinently  deserted  her.  Others  came  to 
awaken  the  dead  and  forsaken  beauty,  to  clothe 
her  anew  in  loveliness,  only  in  their  turn  to  leave 
her  to  ruin  and  decay.  Thus  did  those  dwellers 
come,  during  the  Stone  Age,  whose  remains  and 
ruins  in  Claverton  and  Lansdown  Beacon  prove 
this  whole  district  to  have  been  densely  populated 
at  least  a  thousand  years  before  Christ.  Thus  came 
King  Bladud  and  his  train ;  then  the  Romans ; 
then,  during  the  great  ecclesiastical  period,  the 
monks  and  bishops.  Again  came  desertion ;  and 
finally  Beau  Nash  appeared  to  put  the  little  king- 
dom of  the  springs  on  a  sure  footing  of  order  and 
established  sovereignty. 

Geoffrey  of  Monmouth's  monkish  chronicle  re- 
lates, in  a  bit  of  pleasing  narration,  the  first  known 
discovery  of  the  healing  properties  of  the  Bath 
waters.  A  king's  son,  Bladud  by  name,  being 
afflicted  with  leprosy,  was  forced  to  turn  vagabond. 
His  father,  Brutus,  was  the  son  of  that  hero  whose 
wanderings  Virgil  sang,  and  who,  after  the  destruc- 
tion of  Troy,  came  westward  and  conquered  Albion. 

19 


290  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

But  afflicted  Bladud,  for  all  he  was  a  great 
king's  heir,  could  find  no  nobler  occupation,  cursed 
as  he  was,  than  swine-herding.  His  pigs  were, 
however,  gifted  with  those  phenomenal  qualities 
common  to  pigs  tended  by  royalty  in  distress. 
They  in  their  turn,  catching  their  keeper's  terrible 
malady,  proceeded  to  repair  with  great  promptness 
to  the  hot  springs  in  the  morass  in  which  Bath 
now  stands.  After  a  few  baths,  taken  without  the 
formality  of  professional  consultation,  the  pigs 
became  cured  of  their  disorder.  Their  royal 
keeper,  having  had  the  benefit  of  a  philosophic 
course  at  the  schools  of  Athens,  had  acquired  suffi- 
cient logic  to  enable  him  to  make  the  following 
conclusion  :  "  If  the  springs  have  cured  my  pigs, 
why  will  they  not  cure  me  ? "  Whereupon  he 
promptly  plunged  into  the  morass.  He  emerged 
as  cured  as  his  swine.  In  consequence  of  which 
happy  miracle,  Bladud  was  enabled  to  make  his 
bow  at  court.  With  the  virtue  so  freely  attrib- 
uted to  legendary  heroes,  the  chronicle  proceeds 
to  narrate  that  Bladud  inaugurated  his  own 
reign  by  building  in  the  morass  a  grand  city, 
plentifully  supplied  with  baths  for  both  rich  and 
poor. 


BATH.  291 

Whether  or  not  the  "  grand  city  "  survived  till 
Rome  came  to  take  possession,  is  not  authenti- 
cated. Rome,  however,  was  sufficiently  opulent  to 
supply  her  own  luxuries.  This  invigorating  moun- 
tain air  once  sniffed  by  a  Roman  nostril ;  this 
lovely  landscape  once  lit  upon  by  the  all-discerning 
Roman  eye,  —  and  the  Roman  knew  a  good  thing 
when  he  saw  it  if  ever  a  man  did,  —  assured  to 
Bath,  for  a  century  or  two  at  least,  the  protection 
of  its  dominion.  The  charming  hills  were  covered, 
as  if  by  a  miracle,  with  costly  villas ;  parks  were 
laid  out,  and  terraces  constructed  to  delight  the  eye 
and  the  taste  of  the  pedestrian ;  roadways  were 
constructed  over  the  hills  to  the  sea,  along  which 
Britons  and  American  tourists  still  travel ;  the  city 
itself  was  beautified  with  houses  and  temples  and 
baths  splendid  enough  to  tempt  the  invalid  across 
seas  and  continents,  —  for  the  distance  from  Rome 
to  these  hot  springs  of  Bath  was,  after  all,  some- 
what of  a  journey  for  a  gentleman  in  Trajan's 
time.  But  then,  what  will  not  a  man  do  if  his  liver 
be  out  of  order  ?  The  Roman,  however,  it  must  be 
remembered,  above  all  other  travellers  anticipated 
the  nineteenth  century  in  the  ease  and  comfort  of 
his  travelling  arrangements.     He   carried,   so   to 


292  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

speak,  all  Rome  with  him.  He  had  only  to  unpack 
his  Saratoga  to  feel  entirely  at  home.  Here  in 
Bath,  for  instance,  he  soon  found  himself  in  a 
miniature  Rome.  If  he  needed  to  pass  an  hour 
in  worship,  he  had  the  beautiful  Temple  of  Sul- 
Minerva  round  the  corner.  If  he  repaired  to  the 
baths,  he  found  as  complete  and  as  varied  a  club 
life  as  at  home.  He  would  hear  all  the  morning's 
gossip  in  the  Frigidarium,  and  in  the  Eliothe- 
sium  he  could  be  quite  as  certain  as  at  Rome  of 
being  properly  oiled  and  perfumed.  Later  in  the 
day,  a  very  fair  contingent  of  fashionable  Rome 
could  be  met  taking  the  air  along  these  Bath  hills. 
Altogether,  a  Roman  might  do  a  worse  thing  than 
to  settle  here. 

At  a  stone's-throw  from  our  hotel,  closely 
wedged  in  among  the  tall  modern  houses  of  the 
present  city,  lies  a  mass  of  ruins.  One  looks  down 
upon  an  apparently  undistinguishable  medley, — 
on  broken  fragments  of  columns,  on  grand  bases 
separated  from  their  shafts,  upon  bits  of  richly 
sculptured  capitals  and  traceried  cornices.  These 
shattered  fragments  are  all  that  remain  to  make 
this  lost  page  of  Roman  history  a  vivid  reality. 
Archaaologists  point  in  triumph  to  the  unmistak- 


Old  Roman  Baths,  Bath. 


Page  292. 


BATH.  293 

able  traces  of  all  the  parts  of  these  once  great  and 
beautiful  baths,  —  to  the  leaden  pipes  which  still 
exist,  showing  the  entire  plan  of  its  heating  appa- 
ratus ;  to  the  green  pools  where  the  gold-fish  still 
show  their  scaly  golden  armor,  descendants  of 
those  finny  tribes  that  the  Romans  placed  here  ;  to 
the  votive  tablets  and  coins  which  tlie  grateful  had 
hung  on  the  walls  as  tributes  of  their  cure.  But  nei- 
ther the  historian  nor  the  archaeologist  can  do  more 
than  does  this  green  sluggish  pool  of  water  which 
washes  the  broad  mouldy  steps  of  the  bath  leading 
into  it :  this  shadowy  pool  reflects  two  cities, — the 
one  in  ruins,  gathered  in  pathetic  fragments  near 
its  margin;  the  other  erect  and  intact  above  it, 
towering  in  the  majestic  solidity  of  the  present. 
Such  is  the  history  of  nations. 

When  Rome  fell,  Roman  Bath  died.  It  came  to 
life  again  under  the  reign  of  the  mediaeval  kings 
called  bishops  and  abbots.  Monks  took  the  place 
of  pagan  epicureans.  An  abbey  and  a  monastery 
replaced  the  Temple  of  Sul-Minerva,  on  that  plan 
of  economy  which  inspired  the  early  Christians  to 
make  paganism  serve  God  after  its  centuries  of 
devotion  to  the  devil.  When  the  church  became 
the  cathedral  of  the  diocese,  John  of  Villula  built 


294  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

a  Norman  structure  befitting  its  dignity.  In  his 
time  Bath  was  the  bishop's  seat.  With  the  re- 
moval of  that  throne  to  Wellg  in  the  latter  part 
of  the  same  century,  the  Abbey  Church  fell  into 
ruin  and  decay.  The  present  abbey  was  rebuilt  in 
the  fifteenth  century  by  Bishop  King.  Something 
of  the  grandeur  of  the  former  edifice  may  be  in- 
ferred from  the  fact  that  this  present  Perpendicular 
building,  of  very  respectable  size,  occupies  only  the 
site  of  the  Norman  nave.  From  the  banks  of  the 
river,  the  abbey's  embellished  turrets,  its  pierced 
parapets  and  the  pinnacled  transepts  group  effec- 
tively with  the  surrounding  plume-like  trees  and 
the  city's  picturesque  sky-line.  But  this  abbey, 
in  common  with  other  less  complete  buildings, 
is  best  seen  at  a  distance.  Like  certain  friend- 
ships, its  excellences  are  heightened  when  seen  in 
perspective. 

The  next  and  last  page  of  the  history  of  Bath 
reads  like  a  fairy  tale.  It  is  centred  in  the  life 
of  one  man,  —  an  ideal  prince  of  adventurers,  who, 
it  is  true,  never  ascended  a  throne,  and  yet  ruled 
as  autocratically  as  any  despot ;  who  discovered, 
early  in  life,  that  in  order  to  command  men  it  is 
only  necessary  to  guide  their  pleasures ;  that  royalty 


BATH.  295 

will  make  quite  as  obedient  subjects  as  commoners 
if  it  discover  a  monarch   strong  enough  to  issue 
the   fiat  of  Draconian   laws.     Never  was   there  a 
sovereignty,  founded  on  such  fictitious  usurpation 
of  power,  so  powerful  and  prosperous  as  the  fifty 
years'   reign   of    Beau   Nash's   kingship   in   Bath. 
This  solemn  adjuster  of  trifles,  this  master  of  the 
ceremonies  of  polite  life,  this  rigid  arbiter  of  fash- 
ion, W'ho  took  dandyism  as  seriously  as  statesmen 
take  statescraft,  did  for  Bath  what  neither  Rome 
nor  bishop,  nor  kingly  visitors  had  been  able  to 
achieve.     He  found  Bath  a  city  of  dung-hills ;  he 
left  it   the  beautiful  and   finished  city  which  we 
now  behold. ,  In   1631    physicians   did    not   dare 
recommend    their    patients    to    take    the    waters 
internally;  "for  the  streets  are  dung-hills,  slaugh- 
ter-houses, and  pigsties ;  .  .  .  the  baths  are  bear- 
gardens, where  both   sexes   bathe   promiscuously, 
while   the   passers-by   pelt  them  with  dead   dogs, 
cats,    and    pigs,"    writes    a   certain    Dr.   Jordan. 
Another  writer  adds :  "  The  roads  are  so  bad  it  is 
scarce  possible  to  get  to  the  city  in  the  winter. 
Every  house  is  covered  with  thatch,  and  at  every 
door  hangs  a  manger  to  feed  the  horses,  asses,  etc., 
which  bring  coal  and  provisions  into  the  town ;  ami 


296  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

nothing  but  obscenity,  ribaldry,  and  licentiousness 
prevail."  Even  ten  years  later,  when  Queen  Anne 
made  her  famous  entry  into  Bath,  the  city  was  still 
notoriously  squalid,  and  the  pleasures  of  the  town 
were  of  the  coarsest  order.  But  Richard  Nash, 
Esq.,  was  a  better  ruler  than  stupid  Queen  Anne. 
When  he  came  the  face  of  things  was  changed. 
First  he  reorganized  the  pleasures,  and  then  he  re- 
constructed the  city.  The  town,  as  we  now  know 
it,  was  either  almost  entirely  the  work  of  his  direct 
energies,  or  the  improvements  were  due  to  the  im- 
petus which  the  radical  changes  he  wrought  in- 
spired. The  new  and  enlarged  streets,  the  churches 
and  chapels,  the  Guildhall,  the  Grand  Pump  Room, 
the  Stall  Street  baths,  the  numerous  benevolent 
institutions,  were  the  direct  offspring  of  one  man's 
genius  for  the  organization  of  the  pleasures  of  life. 
He  may  have  been,  as  Goldsmith  calls  him  in  his 
inimitable  portraiture,  "  the  little  king  of  a  little 
people  ; "  but  the  puerilities  of  his  aim  are  dignified 
into  grandeur  in  view  of  such  wide-reaching  and 
substantial  results.  The  lesson  of  Nash's  life  is 
that  it  furnishes  such  a  commentary  on  the  relative 
values  of  human  endeavor.  How  rarely  are  the 
noblest    purposes    and    most   heroic    self-sacrifice 


BATH.  297 

rewarded  as  were  the  selfish  petty  ambitions  of  this 
man  !  Such  may  come  to  be  the  true  secret  of 
successful  sovereignty,  —  that  a  prince  should  de- 
scend to  the  human  popular  level  of  presiding 
over  quadrilles  and  issuing  his  fiat  for  the  height 
of  shirt-collars  and  the  color  of  waistcoats,  —  to 
lead  the  fashion,  in  a  word,  both  in  manners  and 
in  dress,  and  thus  make  existence  for  simpler  men 
a  less  expensive  outlay  of  mental  capital.    . 

The  sky  is  full  of  signs  that  the  world  will  grow 
in  wisdom  with  the  coming  centuries;  but  the 
world,  be  it  ever  so  wise,  will  always  have  this 
point  in  sympathy  with  sheep,  —  whenever  a  leader 
arises  it  will  be  quite  certain  to  follow. 

In  the  mean  time  the  brake  had  been  finished, 
and  Ballad,  impatient  of  cures,  having  devoured 
all  the  oats  within  reach,  had  begun  a  species  of 
refined  cannibalism  on  his  own  person.  He  was 
eating  his  head  off,  the  hostler  said. 


298  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  DRIVE  TO  WELLS.— AN^  ENCHANTED  KIGHT. 

'nr^HE  brake  worked  like  a  charm.  It  worked  so 
well  that  we  began  to  feel  as  if  we  had  per- 
sonally invented  it.  We  experienced  something 
of  that  joy  which  comes  to  a  successful  patentee. 
Ballard  trotted  merrily  down  the  steepest  hills ; 
or  rather,  the  merry  trotting  began  after  he  had 
discovered  the  brake.  At  first,  as  a  horse  of  en- 
lightened intelligence,  he  received  the  evidences  of 
its  working-power  with  fine  incredulity.  At  the 
top  of  the  first  hill  he  promptly  reined  himself  in. 
In  any  other  horse  this  self-assertive  action  might 
have  been  termed  balking ;  but  Ballad  was  too 
sensitive  to  outside  influences  to  be  classed  among 
true  balkers.  A  few  caressive  supplications,  and 
he  was  induced  to  make  a  venture  downwards. 
Then  behold  his  amazement!  —  half  of  the  weight 
of  the  carriage  lifted  and  the  vehicle  held  back, 
grappled  as  if  by  a  hand  of  iron !    He  was  as  free 


THE  DRIVE  TO   WELLS.  299 

from  the  load  behind  him  now  as  if  he  had  been 
on  an  independent  flying  expedition.  Only  the 
miracle,  alas !  was  so  far  behind,  so  altogether 
hopelessly  in  his  rear,  that  there  was  no  chance  of 
his  ever  being  able  to  investigate  it  with  satisfac- 
tory thoroughness.  He  had  no  choice  but  to  walk, 
or  rather  to  run,  by  faith.  In  view  of  our  latter-day 
scepticism,  it  was  beautiful  to  see  how  admirably  a 
blind  acceptance  of  hidden  laws  may  work. 

To  get  away  from  Bath  was  almost  as  serious  a 
matter,  in  the  amount  of  hill-climbing  to  be  done, 
as  it  had  been  to  reach  the  low-lying  city.  Just 
how  deep  is  the  valley  in  which  the  city  rests,  and 
how  steep  and  high  are  the  surrounding  hills,  can 
only  be  justly  estimated  by  those  who  drive  or  by 
the  pedestrian.  As  usual,  we  had  not  gone  far 
before  we  found  ourselves  belonging  to  the  latter 
class  of  journeyers.  The  brake.  Ballad  had  been 
quick  to  discover,  did  not  help  him  any  the  more 
in  going  up  the  long  hills.  He  therefore  speedily 
gave  us  to  understand  that  a  closer  companionship, 
one  which  brought  us  nearer  to  his  heart  and  head, 
would  be  more  to  his  taste. 

On  this  occasion  we  had  determined  to  try  a 
little  rebellion  on  our  part.     Only  recently,  just  out 


300  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

of  Longleat,  M^e  had  stumbled  on  a  way  of  making 
the  slow  up-hill  half-hours  delightful.  In  rum^ 
maging  in  one  of  the  bags  for  a  remote  and  se- 
cretive pocket-flask,  on  our  way  to  Frome,  we  had 
stumbled  on  a  pocket  edition  of  Shakspeare 
instead. 

"  Give  it  to  me.  It  is  a  gift  from  the  gods.  Now 
we  have  something  for  the  up-hill  work.  I  can  read 
a  play  as  we  walk  along,  —  something  we  both  know 
fairly  well ;  then  we  '11  drop  it  at  the  top,  when  the 
trotting  begins,  and  begin  again  at  the  next  long 
hill.     What  a  find  !  "  I  had  exclaimed. 

The  plan  had  worked  as  only  a  charm  can.  No 
more  tedious  dull  moments,  when  the  scenes  in  the 
landscape  dragged,  or  the  sun  was  too  ardent  a 
lover,  or  the  wind  too  miserly  to  blow,  or  the  hour 
just  one  short  of  starvation.  Here  were  balm,  con- 
tentment, and  inspiration  for  the  dull  entr'actes. 

On  how  many  hill-tops  had  we  not  left  a  brace 
of  those  immortal  lovers,  whose  woes  and  whose 
tearful  joys  are  a  part  of  our  own  intenser  ex- 
periences !  Yiola,  gay  Rosalind  and  her  Orlando, 
Egypt's  dark  enchantress  and  doomed  Anthony, 
or  Romeo  and  Juliet,  breasting  their  stormy  sea 
of  love,  —  such  was  the  wondrous  company  we  had 


THE  DRIVE  TO   WELLS.  301 

conjured  up  as  fellow-travellers.  Even  when  the 
book  was  laid  aside,  thrust  in  between  the  two 
carriage  cushions,  in  readiness  to  be  pulled  out  at 
the  next  ascent,  it  was  still  the  echo  of  that  melo- 
dious passion  and  the  rhythm  of  that  ecstatic  verse 
that  filled  the  trees  and  was  wafted  towards  us  on 
the  light  summer  air.  This  reading  of  Shakspeare 
amid  the  scenes  and  the  land  that  he  loved  so  well, 
whose  fair  and  finished  charms  seem  to  fill  the 
airy  atmosphere  of  his  work  as  do  the  violet 
skies  of  Greece  each  line  of  Homer,  made  the 
great  English  bard  and  his  glorious  company  of 
immortal  heroes  new  and  strangely  realizable.  As 
the  eyes  of  the  spectators  at  Athens  could  sweep 
past  the  stage  out  to  the  Piraeus,  to  the  sea  that 
Sophocles  made  his  heroes  apostrophize,  so  here 
the  great  framework  was  still  left,  —  that  gay  and 
smiling  background  on  which  has  figured  so  many 
a  tearful  comedy,  so  many  a  tender  tragedy. 
How  many  forests  of  Arden  had  we  not  passed! 
Over  the  velvet  of  Longleat  or  under  the  silvery 
Arundel  foliage,  surely  it  must  have  been  over  such 
turf  that  tripped  Titania's  fantastic  court.  Nor  do 
all  the  dramatis  personce  seem  dead,  living  only  in 
these  glowing  pages.     Each  rustic  we  met  seemed 


802  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

to  have  in  him  the  making  of  a  boor  or  a  clown. 
Dogberrys  and  Shallows  we  were  quite  certain  we 
had  seen  again  and  again  at  the  wayside  inns  and 
at  tavern  doors. 

May  not  this,  perhaps,  be  taken  as  the  highest 
test  of  genius,  —  that  it  shall  so  transfix,  on  an 
imperishable  canvas  of  truth,  the  types  truest  to 
its  time  and  country  that  the  portraiture  shall  re- 
main  forever  an  immortal  picture  of  the  land  and 
the  people  ?  That  genius  which  has  not  so  painted 
the  life  about  him  as  to  make  it  forever  true,  so  that 
so  long  as  the  people  endure  as  a  race  or  a  nation 
the  world  shall  know  the  people  through  the  work 
and  the  work  through  the  people,  has  not,  I  think, 
touched  the  apogee  of  human  greatness  in  creative 
power. 

Ballad,  being  merely  a  horse  of  talent,  quite 
naturally  could  see  nothing  in  genius  except  that 
it  was  very  much  in  his  way.  (If  Ballad  had 
been  a  man  and  an  author,  he  would  have  belonged 
to  the  modern  American  school  of  realists  ;  he 
hated  things  he  could  not  understand.)  He  soon 
developed  very  decided  objections  to  Shakspeare. 
Whenever  he  saw  that  small  green  book  come  out 
of  its  hiding-place  he  knew  his  most  formidable 


THE  DRIVE  TO   WELLS.  303 

rival  was  about  to  take  possession  of  us.  He  pro- 
ceeded to  put  into  practice  a  series  of  deep  strategic 
manoeuvres.  He  began  by  suddenly  developing 
a  fancy  for  running  up  the  hills.  He  slackened 
his  speed,  it  is  true,  as  he  neared  the  crest,  but  not 
long  enough  for  the  hated  rival  to  be  drawn  forth. 

On  this  particular  occasion  chance  and  the  loose 
morality  that  governs  the  inanimate  world  came  to 
his  rescue.  "  Cymbeline,"  the  play  we  had  nearly 
finished  before  entering  Bath,  had  gone  astray. 

"  Have  you  looked  in  the  Amusement  Bag  ?  "  I 
asked  of  Boston,  as  he  continued  an  unrewarded 
search  through  the  various  hand-pieces.  The  bags, 
early  in  the  trip,  we  found  were  cryingly  in  need 
of  being  christened.  There  were  five.  Each  one 
more  or  less  resembled  its  fellow  in  size  and  com- 
plexion. They  came,  in  the  end,  quite  naturally  to 
take  the  name  of  their  contents.  There  was  the 
Amusement  Bag,  full  of  the  books,  papers,  maps, 
and  one  small  and  as  yet  untouched  pack  of 
playing-cards.  There  were  also  the  Medicine 
Chest ;  the  Upholstery  Department,  with  the  toilet 
and  night-gear;  the  Restaurant,  which  ministered 
to  temporary  physical  wants ;  and  the  Wine 
Cellar. 


304  CATHEDRAL  DAYS, 

In  no  one  of  these  over-full  receptacles  had 
"  Cymbeline  "  hidden  itself.  Ballad,  therefore,  had 
his  way  with  us.     We  cheerily  took  to  the  hills. 

With  every  upward  step  the  prospect  broadened. 
To  look  over  the  land  was  to  overlook  a  great  sea 
of  hills.  In  the  valleys  nestled  the  farms  and  the 
villages  ;  on  the  hill-tops  bristled  a  tall  spire  here 
and  there,  a  quivering  spear  flashing  in  the  sun- 
light. The  crests  of  the  hills  were,  however,  for 
the  most  part  unbroken  surfaces  of  woodland  or 
tilled  meadows,  so  that  the  rhythm  of  their  har- 
monious elevations  was  unspoiled. 

The  whole  glorious  prospect  was  splendidly 
lighted  by  an  August  sun,  —  a  late  afternoon  sun. 

Experience  had  taught  us  that  it  was  greatly  to 
our  advantage  to  make  engagements  with  twilight 
effects.  To  start  somewhat  late  in  the  afternoon, 
that  we  might  have  the  sunset,  the  long  twilight 
hour,  and  later  on  clear  moonlight, —  if  the  lunar 
gentleman  could  be  counted  upon  to  appear,  — 
this  was  the  ideal  driving-time.  Wells  was  at 
just  the  right  distance  from  Bath  to  make  this 
arrangement  feasible. 

We  had  started  only  a  little  after  three  by  the 
Grand   Pump  Boom's  stately  clock,  yet  here  on 


THE  DRIVE  TO   WELLS.  305 

the  hills,  an  hour  and  a  half  later,  the  shadows 
were  already  lengthening. 

During  the  days  of  our  town  life,  whilst  we  had 
been  gaping  at  shop-windows,  Nature,  we  found, 
had  gone  on  steadily  perfecting  her  summer  tasks. 
At  the  end  of  five  short  days  great  changes  had 
come  upon  the  landscape.  The  grain-fields,  which 
we  had  left  still  green  and  only  timidly  yellowing, 
were  now  quite  brazenly  golden.  The  wheat  had 
even  had  time  to  turn  coquette.  She  was  so 
yellow  a  blond  she  could  dare  to  wear  poppies  in 
her  hair.  The  trees  also  looked  fuller  and  more 
mature,  as  if  to  prove  that  even  in  five  short  days 
a  good  deal  may  be  learned  in  the  arts  of  sym- 
metry and  proportion.  Their  trunks  looked  un- 
commonly rich  and  brown,  as  the  sun,  dipping 
westward,  sent  broad,  strong  beams  of  light 
through  the  woods. 

There  had  been  a  good  stretch  of  fairly  level 
road.  Soon  we  came  to  a  village.  It  was  none 
too  soon.  The  timepiece  of  our  vigorous  appetites 
had  begun  to  set  the  hour  of  ravenous  hunger. 
We  stopped  at  the  first  little  tavern,  which  hap- 
pened also  to  be  the  only  one  in  the  straggling 

village.      We   decided   to   rest  for  an  hour,  that 

20 


306  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

Ballad's  supper  and  our  own  might  have  a  peaceful 
digestion. 

The  Restaurant  had  been  plenteously  filled  before 
leaving  Bath.  We  had  no  mind  to  trust  ourselves 
to  the  problematical  casualties  of  roadside-tavern 
fare.  We  proceeded  at  once  to  make  an  impro- 
vised dining-table  of  the  box-seat  of  the  carriage. 
A  clean  napkin  gave  our  feast  the  appearance 
of  a  fashionable  repast  on  race-daj.  Ham  and 
chicken  sandwiches  with  some  crisp  leaves  of 
lettuce  between,  some  of  the  famous  Bath  buns 
and  the  pastry  puffs  for  which  the  city  is  noted, 
topped  off  with  some  foaming  glasses  of  beer,  —  a 
delicate  compliment  to  the  tavern-keeper's  vintage, 
although  our  own  Wine  Cellar  boasted  some  Cha- 
teau Yquem  of  a  classic  date,  —  made  a  tempting 
and  wholesome  meal. 

We  did  not  long  enjoy  our  feast  alone.  At  the 
end  of  five  minutes  most  of  the  village  were  pres- 
ent. When  we  arrived  the  village  had  been  as 
dead  as  only  an  inland  rural  village  can  be. 
The  opening  of  our  lunch-basket  was  the  signal 
for  its  brisk  awakening.  By  the  time  we  had 
spread  the  napkin  the  entire  village  —  to  a  man 
and    the    latest    suckling    infant  —  was    present. 


THE  DRIVE  TO   WELLS.  807 

Not  being  royalty,  eating  thus  conspicuously  in 
public  might  easily  have  proved  embarrassing; 
but  the  evident  enjoyment  of  the  on-lookers  took 
off  all  edge  of  discomfort.  It  was  a  lesson  in  the 
uses  of  levies  and  of  their  effect  on  the  masses. 
No  lover  watching  his  mistress's  rosy  lips  sipping 
golden  Tokay  could  have  evinced  a  more  vivacious 
delight  in  dainty  food  than  did  our  cordon  of 
rustics.  When  we  broke  into  the  crumbling  feath- 
ery pastry  every  countenance  expressed  pleased 
approval.  As  we  drained  the  beer-mugs  there 
was  an  audible  smacking  of  lips.  Naturally  such 
delicate  compliments  to  our  supper  deserved  their 
reward.  When  we  had  packed  the  Restaurant  we 
had  not  expected  to  feed  a  village ;  but  never  did 
a  few  Bath  buns  and  tarts  prove  the  disputed  facts 
in  a  certain  great  miracle  to  be  incontestably 
true. 

Even  the  infants  partook.  A  sweet,  shy-eyed 
woman  had  come  out  of  the  tavern  door.  She  held 
in  her  arms  a  young  babe.  Her  appearance  was 
the  signal  for  several  wandering  babies,  old  enough 
to  toddle,  to  gather  about  her  skirts,  that  they 
might  with  more  safety  direct  their  greedy  asking 
little  glances  upward.     Two  Bath  buns  made  the 


308  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

happiest  family  ever  seen  out  of  a  show.  The 
mother's  portion  was  shared  by  the  infant. 

"  Are  all  these  children  yours  ?  "  I  asked  as  she 
stood  smiling  in  their  midst. 

She  blushed  a  vivid  crimson  as  she  looked  shyly 
askance  at  the  row  of  curly  heads  about  her  knees. 
"  Yes,  mum,  please,  mum ; "  and  she  dropped  a 
courtesy.  "  There  's  five  of  'em,  mum,  I  do  be- 
lieve," —  as  if  counting  them  were  an  altogether 
novel  experience.  Then,  emboldened,  she  came 
nearer,  and  took  courage  to  look  me  full  in  the 
face.  It  was  delightful  to  look  down  into  her  eyes, 
—  the  shy,  soft,  maternal  eyes.  "  You  see,  mum, 
it 's  a  long  family,  mum,  and  they  came  so  fast  I 
don't  remember  rightly.  There 's  Willie,  now,  he 's 
the  oldest;  he's  off  mostly  to  the  vicarage,  —  he 
sings  in  the  choir  and  does  chores.  But  won't  you 
be  feeling  tired,  mum,  an'  come  in  and  take  a 
seat?" 

"  Thank  you  so  very  much,  but  we  are  going  off 
presently." 

"  You  have  come  a  long  ways,  maybe,  —  from  dif- 
ferent parts,"  she  still  continued,  as  if  she  felt,  now 
that  the  ice  was  broken,  that  talking  to  a  stranger 
was  after  all  not  so   terrifying  an  undertaking. 


THE  DRIVE  TO   WELLS.  309 

The  other  bystanders  looked  at  her  in  undisguised 
admiration.  Perhaps  they  had  not  suspected  her 
hidden  talent  for  dialogue. 

"  Oh  yes,"  I  answered  her,  to  encourage  so  brave 
a  venture  ;  "  we  have  come  a  long  distance,  —  from 
London  and  from  across  the  seas,  —  from  New 
York." 

"  Yes ;  I  said  from  different  parts,"  she  replied, 
not  to  be  put  down  with  any  such  overwhelming 
distances.  They  evidently  conveyed  no  meaning 
to  her  mind.  Her  eye  did  not  lighten ;  there  was 
only  an  obstinate  tightening  of  the  facial  muscles. 
Her  geographical  limits  were  bounded  by  the  hills  ; 
but  she  was  a  woman,  and  was  outwardly  not  to  be 
put  in  the  wrong.  It  was  very  evident,  however, 
that  we  had  improved  our  position  as  adventurous 
travellers  with  the  male  members  of  the  group. 
They  all  gathered  closer,  and  began  to  take  an 
interest  in  Ballad  and  the  trap. 

At  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  as  we  drove  off, 
there  stood  a  lovely  vicarage.  It  had  the  straight 
parapet  and  the  mullioned  Tudor  casements,  with 
the  diamond-leaded  glass  of  the  period,  to  proclaim 
its  three  centuries  of  antiquity.  The  moss  and 
the  ivy  had  had  so  many  years  to  weave  their 


310  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

mantle  of  green  over  the  door-lintels  and  the  rain- 
stained  facade  that  they  had  ended  by  clothing 
the  entire  establishment.  A  boy's  voice  through 
the  shrubbery  rang  out  clear  and  sweet.  It  was 
a  snatch  of  some  old  glee,  with  quaint  old-time 
changes  in  it. 

"  It  is  the  choir-boy,  Boston,  doing  a  song  as  he 
tidies  up  the  barn.  How  pure  his  voice  is,  and  how 
true  !  It  has  the  ring  of  a  skylark.  And  how  the 
song  fits  into  the  scene,  does  n't  it  ?  It  is  like  a 
madrigal  to  that  Lady  of  Light." 

For  the  west  was  aflame.  A  great  glory  of 
light  filled  the  western  horizon,  spreading  in 
fainter  tints  up  to  the  very  zenith.  The  land- 
scape lay  beneath,  calm,  peaceful,  serene,  as  only 
an  English  landscape  lies  under  a  tinted  sky,  its 
velvet  cheek  scarcely  a  shade  deeper  in  tone.  The 
sun  meanwhile  was  rolling  up  his  day-canvas. 
The  scene  was  being  set  for  moonlight  effects. 
According  to  the  most  approved  modern  devices 
for  stage-shifting  one  scene  was  melting  impercep- 
tibly into  the  next.  The  sun,  being  an  older  and 
very  experienced  hand,  was  making  a  series  of  pic- 
tures of  each  point  of  transition.  We  had  had  a 
blue  earth  and  a  blue  sky,  a  paler  daffodil  firma- 


AN  ENCHANTED  NIGHT.  311 

ment,  and  a  darker,  greener  landscape  ;  and  now 
there  was  that  rich  light  in  the  west,  and  in  the 
east  a  pale  yellow  moon.  For  one  brief  moment 
the  two  chief  actors  in  the  scene  faced  each  other. 
The  sun  gave  his  rival  a  long,  luminous,  splendid 
stare  ;  then  he  dropped  behind  his  breastwork  of 
hills.  Slowly  the  moon  mounted  to  take  serene 
possession  of  the  night ;  slowly  the  color  faded  out 
of  the  west ;  slowly  the  earth  took  on  her  sombre 
evening  garments ;  slowly  the  woods  thickened 
into  darkness,  the  bluish  greens  in  the  meadows 
turning  into  warm  browns  and  blackened  purples. 
Then,  as  the  moon  rose  higher  in  the  rich,  dusky 
summer  sky,  the  breasts  of  the  hills  whitened  to 
silvery  grayness,  the  plains  became  a  lake  of 
misty  light,  and  earth  and  sky  seemed  floating  in 
a  wondrous  illumined  halo. 

For  several  hours  we  lived  in  this  silver  world. 
We  were  still  toiling  up  the  Mendip  Hills,  and 
our  road  took  us  into  the  fairy  upper  fields  of 
light.  The  moonlight  streamed  into  the  depths 
of  the  forests,  making  the  far  distances  as  bright 
as  day.  Above  us  the  hills  towered,  their  heights 
white  with  light;  while  the  nearer  hollows  were 
as  dark  and  deep  as  wells. 


812  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

Then  quite  suddenly  the  descent  began.  The 
road  now  was  as  broad  as  a  wide  boulevard.  It 
wound  in  beautiful,  sinuous  coils  about  the  moun- 
tain-side. As  we  looked  down  into  the  valleys 
below,  we  saw  a  fantastically  lighted,  half-obscured 
landscape.  The  mountain-sides  were  swathed  in 
mist,  —  a  gauzy  veil  that  coiled  its  light  tis- 
sues about  the  jagged  rocks.  At  a  turn  in  the 
road,  the  yawning  abysses  were  exchanged  for 
brilliant,  clearly  cut  bits  of  woodland  scenery, 
as  frankly  revealing  themselves  as  meadows  at 
high  noon.  We  were  in  the  midst  of  all  the 
stillness  and  the  mystery  peculiar  to  high  alti- 
tudes. The  noises  of  the  night  were  hushed. 
In  this  enchanted  region  not  even  a  fairy  was 
astir. 

Finally,  like  stars  shining  through  a  misty  sky, 
the  distant  lights  of  Wells  pierced  the  illumined 
gauze  that  covered  the  valleys.  As  we  neared  the 
town,  there  was  no  break  in  the  enchanted  spell 
of  beauty.  Still  the  moon  shone  clear  in  high 
heaven ;  still  the  trees  were  clothed  in  light  as 
in  a  heavenly  garment ;  still  our  broad  roadway 
was  a  path  of  shining  silver.  It  led  us  into  the 
damp  and  misty  valley,  where  the  wandering  night 


AN  ENCHANTED  NIGHT.  818 

air  was  fragrant  with  perfume ;   it  led  us  past 
the  suburban  garden  and  the  whitened  villas,  and 
finally  it  ceased  and  became  a  little  narrow  cobble- 
paved  street. 
And  this  was  Wells. 


314  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

WELLS,  AN  ENCHANTED  CITY. 

'  I  ^HE  little  city  was  under  the  spell.  It  lay- 
folded,  entranced,  in  the  garment  of  warm 
white  light.  The  houses  did  not  seem  quite  real, 
as  we  passed  them,  wrapped  in  that  soft  mellow 
radiance.  The  stillness  made  the  dream  more 
vivid.  The  silent,  white  little  city  neither  moved 
nor  stirred  as  we  drove  through  its  sleeping 
streets. 

Suddenly  there  came  the  flare  of  lamp  and  candle 
light  to  make  broad  streaks  of  dull  yellow  on  the 
white  paving-stones.    It  was  the  light  from  our  inn. 

A  woman's  figure,  leaning  against  the  door-jamb, 
started  forward  as  we  drove  up.  When  Ballad  was 
brought  to  a  halt,  she  was  at  our  side  to  greet  us 
with  a  smile  and  a  soft  "  Good-evening."  She  was 
our  landlady.  She  was  a  young  woman,  but  she 
was  in  widow's  weeds ;  and  her  sombre  draperies 
and  dazzling  white  cap  gave  to  her  comeliness  a 


WELLS,  AN  ENCHANTED  CITY.  315 

look  of  distinction.  It  was  only  in  keeping  with 
the  hour  and  the  night,  we  said,  that  we  should  be 
received  bj  a  pretty,  sentimental  landlady,  with  a 
taste  for  moonlight  revery.  Her  romantic  turn, 
however,  did  not  seem  to  have  been  allowed  to 
interfere  with  a  very  decided  genius  for  affairs. 
The  inn  was  like  wax ;  and  our  supper  was  quite 
a  little  banquet. 

"  Do  you  know  that  any  woman  who  can  keep 
one  eye  on  her  servants  and  the  other  on  the  moon 
is  a  being  for  whom  I  have  a  profound  respect  ? " 
I  announced  to  Boston,  as  we  unfolded  our  snowy 
napkins. 

"  Would  you  mind  my  making  it  a  trifle  warmer 
than  respect  ?  I  feel  a  positive  affection  for  her 
just  now.  This  is  the  best  bouillon  I  have  tasted 
on  English  soil,"  he  replied. 

In  spite  of  its  excellence  we  both  felt  we  were 
eating  the  meal  in  more  or  less  of  a  trance.  For 
the  windows  were  open,  and  the  warm  night  air, 
like  the  soft  flutter  of  a  bird's  wing,  caressed  our 
cheeks.  We  were  so  close  to  the  street  that  the 
little  garden  belonging  to  the  inn,  across  the  way, 
sent  a  cloud  of  perfume  into  the  chamber.  We 
could  see  the  tiny  fountain  splashing  in  the  moon- 


316  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

liglit,  —  a  thread  of  diamond  dewdrops  glistening 
in  the  white  night.  On  the  bench  near  it  some 
people  were  seated ;  their  voices  stole  up  to  us  in 
pleasant,  drowsy  murmurs.  But  beyond  it  all, 
beyond  the  garden  and  the  fountain  and  the  trees, 
rose  a  wondrous  sight.  It  was  the  cathedral,  loom- 
ing up  to  heaven,  cut  in  solid  silver  against  the 
sky. 

"  Come,  let  us  go,"  I  cried,  pushing  the  table 
aside.  "  This  is  no  time  for  eating  or  for  swinish 
slumber.     We  '11  make  a  night  of  it." 

The  figure  leaning  pensively  against  the  inn  door 
was  still  there  as  we  passed  out,  looking  unaffect- 
edly up  at  the  moon.  This  time  it  did  not  move  ; 
but  it  spoke  in  the  soft,  clear  English  voice, — 

"  It 's  a  beautiful  night,  is  it  not  ?  Wells  is  so 
pretty  by  moonlight !  Shall  you  be  going  to  the 
cathedral  ? "  A  white  hand  pointed  the  way. 
"  And  be  sure  to  see  the  moat,  beyond  the  gate- 
way, yonder.     It  's  most  lovely  to-night." 

"  She 's  as  perfect  as  if  she  'd  been  made  to 
order,  —  for  us  and  the  night,"  exclaimed  Boston, 
in  what  for  him  was  a  tone  of  rapture. 

The  low  eaves  of  the  houses  made  a  black  shadow 
for  us  to  walk  in.     Then  came  a  great  gateway, 


WELLS,  AN  ENCHANTED  CITY.  317 

a  long  high  wall,  within  which,  stretching  out  to 
the  borders  of  some  lofty  trees,  was  tlie  grassy 
cathedral  close.  It  lay  at  the  feet  of  the  cathedral 
like  a  whitened  shroud.  The  trees,  with  their  lace- 
like foliage,  made  the  only  shadows  that  fell  upon 
the  transfigured  lawn.  The  great  facade  of  the 
cathedral  rose  into  the  sky  like  some  fair  and  dis- 
embodied spirit ;  it  was  as  unreal  as  a  phantom 
ghost.  Its  outlines  seemed  to  float  entranced  in 
the  mellow  light.  Then,  as  we  came  nearer,  the 
vast  and  splendid  surface  resolved  itself  into  shape 
and  outline.  The  three  low  portals  yawned  like  so 
many  caverns.  The  columns  bloomed  like  rounded 
limbs  turned  to  the  sun.  The  turrets  soared  aloft 
into  the  summer  sky.  But  in  spite  of  the  bloom 
and  the  aerial  lightness,  there  rested  on  the  whole 
the  spell  of  a  statue-like  sadness.  A  strange, 
quaint  company  covered  that  glowing  surface. 
Earnest,  saintly  faces  leaned  out  into  the  silver 
light.  Under  stone  canopies,  immobile  as  images 
of  fate,  stood,  the  effigies  of  kings  and  martyrs. 
Apostles  and  tender  .women  lifted  upward  adoring, 
pleading  faces,  blanched  with  celestial  passion. 
Above,  tier  on  tier  of  angels  seemed  to  be  ascend- 
ing into  glory.     Truly,  this  was  the  ideal  cathedral 


318  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

fagade.     It  was  an  open  Bible  of  Belief,  imaged  in 
stone. 

nen  the  moon  went  under  a  light  cloud ;  and 
there  was  only  a  black  mass  in  the  eastern  sky. 

There  was  light  enough,  however,  for  us  to 
thread  our  way  towards  the  other  gateway.  As 
we  passed  beneath  its  high  arch,  we  came  face  to 
face  with  two  people,  —  a  man  and  a  girl.  As  we 
made  way  for  them  to  pass,  I  saw  that  their  hands 
had  been  locked.  She  was  so  near  that  I  could 
look  into  her  eyes ;  they  glowed  like  two  fiery 
stars.  Was  it  the  shadow  of  the  white  burnoose 
she  wore  over  her  head  that  had  blanched  her 
cheek  to  the  same  whiteness  of  passion  we  had 
seen  on  those  silent  faces  yonder?  As  they  neared 
the  cathedral,  they  stopped.  The  great  mass  was 
still  in  the  gloom  ;  but  the  light  in  the  sky  fell 
upon  the  living  figures.  They  stood  for  a  moment, 
quite  still,  looking  up  at  the  stony  faces  ;  then 
the  man  stooped  and  kissed  her. 

"  I  am  glad  he  did.  I  could  n't  bear  to  see  them 
looking  up  at  those  rigid  facas.  It  was  like  young 
love  gazing  at  renunciation.  Poor  things  !  I  hope 
it  is  n't  a  prophecy,"  I  said ;  and  we  crept  away 
beyond  the  arch  a  trifle   guiltily.     The  darkness 


WELLS,  AN  ENCHANTED  CITY.  319 

seemed  to  deepen,  as  we  walked  on ;  the  air  sud- 
denly thickening,  as  if  with  the  heat  of  some  stifled 
human  emotion.  Then,  as  we  came  into  the  open 
market-place,  a  great  brightness  filled  the  night, 
lighting  up  a  picture  we  were  both  glad  and  half 
ashamed  to  see ;  for  our  lovers  had  gained  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  great  square,  and  on  its  white  flag- 
ging a  shadowetched  itself  in  black, the  shadow  of  the 
two  clasped  in  each  other's  arms.  Imaged  thus,  they 
lav  motionless  a  moment;  then,  at  the  sound  of  our 
footfall,  the  figures  started  asunder,  hurrying  away 
beneath  the  friendly  blackness  of  the  window-eaves. 
For  us,  as  we  also  hurried  away,  came  a  moment 
in  fairy-land.  The  market-place,  with  its  rows  of 
silent-faced  houses,  was  the  last  glimpse  we  had  of 
the  world,  with  its  reminders  of  the  realities  of  life. 
Was  it,  in  truth,  a  real  world  at  all,  —  this  that  we 
had  entered  after  passing  beyond  yonder  stately 
gateway  ?  There  was  a  path,  it  is  true,  that  wound 
in  and  out  among  noble  trees ;  but  to  what,  if  not 
to  a  realm  of  pure  romance,  belonged  that  fair 
and  shimmering  sheet  of  water  which  girdled  the 
rounded  bastions  of  that  fantastically  garmenteH 
wall  ?  Beyond,  in  the  misty  distance,  gleamed  a 
vision  of  towers  and  turrets,  the  fairy  palace  of 


320  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

this  fairy  world.  The  walls  were  still  stout  and 
strong,  but  they  were  covered  with  trailing  vines 
and  studded  with  foliaged  trees,  —  a  breast  of  steel 
hung  with  garlands.  The  drawbridge  even  in  the 
dead  of  night  was  down ;  a  host  of  pixies  might 
have  crossed  it ;  and,  as  if  in  answer  to  some  un- 
seen Lohengrin's  trumpet-call,  a  flock  of  kingly 
swans  floated,  serene  and  calm,  over  the  silvered 
bosom  of  the  waters.  Their  cries,  answered  by 
the  "  Quack,  quack  !  "  of  some  ducks  that  formed 
their  train,  were  the  only  sounds  that  took  posses- 
sion of  the  still,  voiceless  midnight.  It  was  the 
myth  of  the  Middle  Ages  come  to  life,  apparelled  in 
its  matchless  beauty  and  in  the  grandeur  of  its  state. 
The  sweep  of  a  hand  across  a  guitar,  just  a  liquid 
note  or  two  from  a  human  throat,  and  it  would 
have  been  Italy  instead  of  staid  respectable  Eng- 
land, that  knew  no  better  than  to  go  to  bed  and 
sleep  away  such  a  matchless  night,  —  it  would 
have  been  the  house  of  the  Capulets  instead  of  the 
palace  of  a  bishop.  How  Juliet's  round  arm  would 
have  gleamed  over  the  curve  of  yonder  bastion,  and 
what  a  mirror  for  the  midnight  of  her  eyes  this 
glassy  sheet,  as  Romeo  climbed  to  her  lips  along 
that  pliant  ladder  of  vines !   As  it  was,  two  North 


WELLS,  AN  ENCHANTED  CITY.  321 

American  savages  entered  and  took  possession  of 
the  scene.  Was  it  a  presage  of  the  future,  a  pro- 
phetic image  of  the  dominance  of  our  new  race,  — 
this  reflection  of  our  motionless  figures  in  the 
waters  of  the  moat  ?  Were  these  the  new  heirs  to 
the  golden  past,  coming  to  take  possession  ?  Are 
we  not,  in  truth,  the  rightful  heirs  to  all  this  glory, 
this  beauty  of  the  past  ?  For  whom  else  if  not  for 
us  lives  this  golden  legend,  —  the  legend  of  history, 
of  romance,  of  mediaevalism  ?  Sentiment  and  imagi- 
nation help  us  to  cross  the  filmy  bridge.  Once  in 
that  delectable  land  a  new  and  wondrous  strength 
to  do,  to  dare,  to  create  new  castles  fairer  than  the 
world  has  ever  seen,  to  sing  songs  such  as  human 
throats  did  never  utter,  should  be  our  longed-for 
prayer  of  inspiration. 

Something  of  this  rhapsody  I  ventured  to  breathe 
to  Boston.  He  listened  with  exemplary  patience 
to  the  end ;  then  for  all  answer  he  bade  me  look 
at  the  reflection  of  my  face  in  the  still  waters. 
The  features  were  so  ridiculously  puffed  out,  so 
exaggerated  and  distorted,  that  I  turned  away  with 
a  laugh.  It  was  the  malicious,  contemptuous  re- 
tort of  the  Past  to  the  presumption  of  the  Present. 
I  accepted  the  lesson  in  all  humility. 

21 


322  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

It  was  high  noon  before  we  were  awake  to  see 
wliat  the  city  was  like  by  daylight.  We  expected 
that  the  illusion  of  the  night  before  would  be  gone 
with  the  moonlight,  but  we  were  forced  to  admit 
that  the  town  held  its  own  uncommonly  well.  The 
little  garden  across  the  street  was  a  brilliant  glow 
of  color  under  the  broad  sunliglit.  It  was  so  gay 
and  bright  a  spectacle,  indeed,  that  we  were  quite 
willing  to  exchange  it  for  the  spectral  camping- 
ground  of  the  sentimental  ghosts  of  the  night  be- 
fore. The  cathedral  also  had  lost  its  shroud  of 
mystery  ;  it  rose  into  the  fair  summer  sky  in 
stately  majesty  and  splendor. 

"  All  the  same,  in  spite  of  its  beauty,  let  us  go 
about  the  town  first,  before  making  a  tour  of  the 
cathedral.  It's  too  fine  a  morning  to  spend  be- 
neath stone  aisles,"  I  said,  as  we  strolled  out. 

"  As  you  like,  my  dear,"  Boston  complied ;  "  only, 
to-morrow,  you  know,  we  must  be  off.  The  ca- 
thedral, Murray  warns  us,  is  a  city  by  itself.  We 
must  choose  between  it  and  the  town.  We  have 
lost  half  a  day  already." 

"  Lost  half  a  day  ! "  I  burst  forth.  "  Would  you 
barter  last  night's  midnight  adventures  for  twenty 
ordinary  days  ?     Why,  if  time  were  measured  by 


WELLS,  AN  ENCHANTED   CITY.  323 

sensations,  as  it  should  be,  such  a  night  would 
count  as  a  whole  decade." 

"  By  which  method  of  calculation  you  would  be 
about  a  thousand  years  old,  with  your  talent  for 
emotionalism,"  was  Boston's  chaffing  retort.  But 
in  spite  of  the  chaff,  Boston,  I  could  see,  now  that 
it  was  broad  daylight,  was  more  or  less  inclined  to 
make  light  of  the  raptures  of  the  previous  evening. 
Man,  even  superior  man,  will  never  rise  to  the 
height  of  tolerating  the  indulgence  of  sentiment 
unless  it  leads  to  something,  —  to  marriage,  for  in- 
stance, or  to  verse-making  which  can  command  a 
marketable  price. 

Our  stroll  through  the  city  proved  it  to  be  a 
compact  little  town.  It  could  be  held  in  the  hol- 
low of  one's  hand,  so  to  speak.  The  streets  were 
lined  by  a  fairish  assortment  of  houses,  old  and 
new,  those  fronting  on  the  market-place  being  the 
most  pronouncedly  picturesque.  Here  all  the  life 
and  movement  —  a  somewhat  sluggish  movement, 
at  best —  focussed  itself.  The  noble  gateways,  the 
walls  enclosing  the  cathedral  close  and  the. bishop's 
palace,  —  the  stately  towers  of  the  one  and  the  tur- 
rets of  the  other,  —  were  a  display  of  ecclesiastical 
splendor  in  marked  contrast  with  the  meagreness 


324  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

of  the  town.  Wells  is  first  and  pre-eminently  the 
bishop's  seat  and  the  site  of  his  cathedral.  The 
city  is  an  accidental  growth  about  their  ramparts, 
like  the  growth  of  barnacles  on  a  rock. 

One  little  street,  however,  charmed  us  into 
making  a  tour  of  discovery  along  its  narrow  side- 
walk. It  had  started  bravely  and  fairly  enough 
out  from  the  market-place  at  right  angles  with  our 
inn  ;  then  we  found  it  taking  strange  and  capri- 
cious turns  and  windings.  The  houses,  half  of 
them,  appeared  too  old  and  decrepit  to  follow  its 
whimsical  vagaries.  Many  of  them  had  strayed 
into  back  alleys,  and  others  had  sunk  dejectedly 
by  the  way.  One  house,  however,  had  taken  on 
new  strength  and  courage.  Its  old  face  was  un- 
blushingly  made  up  with  fresh  paint ;  and  its  worn 
sign-board  was  offering,  in  a  mosaic  of  blandishing 
pictures,  a  vista  of  enjoyment  to  the  visitor  who 
should  venture  within.     It  was  a  bric-a-brac  shop. 

We  were  ourselves  suffering  from  a  mild  form  of 
the  mania.  The  fever  had  not  been  abated  by  the 
temptations  which  had  assailed  us  at  Salisbury, 
Winchester,  and  Bath.  There  was  an  air  of  con- 
scious wealth  and  dignified  reserve  in  the  scanty 
but  rare  bits  of  tapestry,  and  the  one  or  two  old 


WELLS,  AN  ENCHANTED  CITY.  325 

carven  chests  which  filled  these  narrow  windows, 
which  there  was  no  resisting.  We  must  behold 
what  lay  beyond  if  it  brought  financial  ruin. 

An  old  man  came  forward  to  meet  us  as  we 
entered.  He  wore  a  workingman's  blouse  and  a 
long  faded  blue  apron ;  their  dull  tone  made  an 
admirable  background  for  his  powerful  face.  The 
hair  and  flowing  beard  were  as  grizzled  as  a  polar 
bear's,  and  the  face  was  seamed  with  deep  wrin- 
kles, —  the  wrinkles  of  thought  and  care.  But  in 
his  deep  blue  eye,  as  it  met  ours  in  a  look  of  pene- 
trating interrogation,  there  was  an  extraordinary 
light  and  power.  It  was  the  artist's  nervous, 
quickened  eye,  impressionable  and  perceptive.  If 
his  looks  were  remarkable,  his  manner  was  en- 
tirely commonplace.  We  wished  to  see  some  Chip- 
pendale chairs  ?  Yes,  he  had  some,  but  he  had 
forgotten  just  how  much  carving  there  was  on 
them ;  would  we  take  the  trouble  to  look  at  them  ? 
They  were  in  the  other  house.  The  house  we  were 
in,  and  of  which  we  appeared  to  be  making  a  more 
or  less  complete  survey,  would  have  furnished  the 
delight  and  occupation  of  an  entire  day  could  we 
have  consecrated  it  to  such  enjoyment.  Trous- 
seau-chests with  rare  Gothic  carvings.  Delft  plate, 


326  CATHEDRAL  DAYS 

Sheraton  sideboards,  fourteenth-century  mantel- 
pieces towering  to  the  ceiling,  and  admirable  tap- 
estries crowded  each  room  through  which  we  passed. 
They  were  as  closely  massed  together  as  so  much 
old  rubbish.  Then  came  an  open  courtyard,  full  of 
flower-pots  and  green  with  vines.  The  old  house 
had  been  an  inn  for  years  past.  He  liad  bought  it, 
our  guide  went  on  to  explain,  to  hold  all  his  "  stuff  " 
together.  It  had  been  scattered  before  in  differ- 
ent shops.  But  even  the  inn  was  n't  big  enough  ; 
so  he  had  bought  the  house  adjoining.  He  pro- 
ceeded to  lead  us  to  an  upper  loft.  It  was  bril- 
liantly lighted,  and  was  filled  with  workmen.  Old 
bits  of  tables,  panels,  and  sideboards  were  stand- 
ing about.  Some  of  the  men  were  busy  polishing, 
mending,  and  repairing  these ;  but  most  of  them 
were  bending  over  new  wood,  carving  industriously. 
They  were  copying  the  old  models  before  them. 
And  we  had  traced  to  their  source  the  secrets  of 
Wardour  Street !  We  knew  now  how  the  new  work 
was  made  to  look  so  miraculously  old. 

The  master  of  the  shop  stopped  to  glance  over  the 
shoulder  of  a  workman  near  the  door.  Out  of  the 
block  in  his  hand  emerged  a  half-draped  figure. 
He  was  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  the  head. 


WELLS,  AN  ENCHANTED   CITY.  327 

"  You  must  cut  the  throat  down  ;  it  is  too 
broad.  Don't  you  see  how  slender  the  figure  is  ? 
It  ain't  a  Amazon  or  a  Bacchante  ;  it 's  a  Psyche." 
The  old  man  then  took  the  knife,  making  one 
or  two  bold  incisions.  It  was  the  stroke  of  a 
master.  The  throat  now  was  as  slender  as  a 
lily-stalk. 

"  The  drapery  over  the  knee  ought  to  have  some 
wrinkles  in  it ;  one  or  two  folds  would  take  away 
that  rigid  look,"  whispered  Boston  to  me. 

But  the  old  man  had  heard  him.  He  turned 
quickly  with  his  wonderful  eyes  ablaze.  "  Ah !  you 
know  something  about  carving,  then.  You  are  an 
artist,  sir  ? "  he  asked,  with  an  entirely  new  man- 
ner, —  a  manner  full  of  intensity  and  awakened 
interest. 

"  No,  we  are  only  art-lovers,"  replied  Boston, 
smiling. 

"  Come,  then,  I  '11  show  you  something  worth 
looking  at.  The  chairs  are  in  there  ;  but  there  's 
plenty  of  time  for  them,"  with  a  wave  of  dismissal 
as  if  Chippendales  were  of  a  very  trifling  order  of 
interest.  "  There  are  some  carvings  downstairs 
you  will  scarcely  see  beat  anywhere,  sir.  They 
took  the  prize  at  the  Exhibition,  sir." 


328  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

He  led  us  hurriedly,  almost  tremblingly,  down  the 
rickety  stairs.  We  repassed  the  dark  alley-ways, 
the  open  sunlit  court,  the  crowded  stuffy  rooms. 
Finally  came  a  room,  large,  well  lighted,  with  only 
two  or  three  great  pieces  in  them  ;  but  each  was 
a  chef-d'oeuvre.  One,  a  massive  sideboard,  was 
crowded  with  a  wealth  of  figures  in  full  relief. 

"  It 's  a  scene  from  Chaucer's  Canterbury  Tales, 
sir.  It 's  the  starting  out  from  the  Inn.  It 's  a  fine 
subject,  ain't  it,  sir? — and  new,  too.  It  won  the 
prize." 

There  was  no  need  of  a  prize  to  stamp  the  great 
work  as  a  masterpiece.  The  figures  were  instinct 
with  life.  The  entire  scene  was  treated  with  won- 
derful naturalness  and  feeling  ;  it  was  as  animated 
as  a  living  pageant. 

Our  praises  brought  a  flush  to  the  old  man's 
cheek. 

"You're  very  kind,  my  lady.  I  see  you  love 
art.  Did  I  carve  it  all  quite  by  myself  ?  Oh,  dear, 
yes  !  I  have  n't  no  workman  could  deal  with  such 
figures.  You  see,  sir,"  —  and  in  his  earnestness 
(the  shop-keeper  had  long  since  been  lost  in  the 
artist)  —  in  his  earnestness  the  old  man  sat  down 
beside  us  on  a  long  carved  settee  and   laid  his 


WELLS,  AN  ENCHANTED  CITY.  329 

work-worn  hand  on  Boston's  arm,  —  "  you  see, 
wood-carving  has  made  great  progress  in  our  day, 
but  there 's  only  a  few  of  us  who  really  know  the 
art.  In  the  old  days  master  and  workman  worked 
together,  side  by  side.  In  our  day  it  is  boss  and 
day-laborer.  The  boss  must  be  overseer  ;  he  's  too 
fine  for  dirty  work.  I'm  boss,  but  I'm  a  work- 
man too,  and  so  I  get  along.  I  'm  teaching  my 
men  myself,  but  it 's  slow  work.  They  ain't  edu- 
cated, to  begin  with,  and  it 's  slow  work  teaching 
them  mythology  and  how  to  handle  their  tools  too. 
But  it  '11  come,  —  it  '11  come,  sir." 

It  was  beautiful  to  see  the  fire  that  lit  the  old 
eyes  and  the  flame  that  touched  the  wrinkled 
brow.  The  bent  form,  the  eager  trembling  hands, 
the .  grand  old  head  with  its  patriarchal  beard  and 
its  ardent  young  eyes,  —  the  immortally  young 
eyes  of  the  artist,  —  how  admirably  the  figure  fitted 
into  the  background  of  the  rich  strong  carvings 
and  the  delicate  grays  and  greens  of  the  old  tapes- 
tries !  It  was  the  art-spirit  of  the  Middle  Ages 
come  to  life,  but  to  a  life  fettered,  as  is  its  period, 
with  the  shackles  of  a  hoary  antiquity. 

We  saw  no  Chippendale  chairs  that  day ;  but 
we  had  stumbled   on   genius,  —  genius  in  carpet 


330  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

slippers  and  a  blouse,  but  with  a  soul  and  a  brow 
that  had  been  kissed  by  the  Muses. 

"  I  see  now  just  what  kind  of  men  those  old 
mediaeval  workers  must  have  been.  They  were 
dreadfully  shaky  in  their  grammar  ;  but  they 
knew  the  poets  and  the  old  gods  and  the  Bible 
as  we  know  Shakspeare.  That  old  man  has  re- 
created an  entire  period  for  me.  I  know  those  old 
workers  now." 

"  Yes,  he  was  a  study ;  and  he  was  as  shrewd 
as  a  Yankee.  He  had  no  Chippendales ;  he  used 
them  for  purely  strategic  purposes.  He  meant  us 
to  buy  his  mantelpiece." 

"Boston!" 

But  I  desisted ;  I  remembered  in  time  that  it 
was  long  past  the  luncheon  hour,  and  that  no  man, 
under  the  dominion  of  hunger,  can  be  expected  to 
be  just. 

We  were  to  devote  the  rest  of  the  day  to  the 
cathedral ;  but  just  because  it  was  an  opposite 
neighbor,  we  indulged  ourselves  in  making  a  little 
detour  before  entering  it.  Our  feet  involuntarily 
turned  towards  the  moat  and  the  bishop's  palace. 
As  it  turned  out,  this  proved  the  true  and  most 
perfect  plan  of  approach.     To  cross  the  close  and 


WELLS,  AN  ENCHANTED  CITY.  331 

enter  through  the  western  front  is  the  common- 
place tourist's  method.  To  assault  the  bishop's 
palace,  and  gain  one's  first  glimpse  of  the  twilight 
interior,  as  the  bishop  himself  does,  through  the 
garden  and  the  cloisters,  is  to  see  the  great  cathe- 
dral in  its  full  strength  of  beauty. 

As  the  drawbridge  was  still  down,  I  crossed 
it.  I  saw  that  it  was  held  in  its  defenceless  posi- 
tion by  ropes  of  vines  and  chains  of  moss.  But 
the  massive  door  beyond  still  looked  formidable 
enough  to  resist  a  stout  siege.  I  began  to  attack 
it  vigorously. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  cried  Boston,  who  had 
stayed  behind  to  look  at  the  walls  and  the  waters 
of  the  moat. 

"  I  want  to  see  what  a  drawbridge  is  like,  —  I 
never  crossed  one  before,  —  and  also  to  see  —  " 

But  we  had  been  discovered.  One  of  the  pan- 
els of  the  great  door  opened,  and  in  its  narrow 
frame  the  figure  of  a  particularly  attractive  young 
woman  defined  itself.  She  smiled,  as  if  she  had 
expected  us.  The  smile  and  her  prettiness  pro- 
duced their  instantaneous  effect  upon  Boston.  The 
electricity  of  a  pretty  woman's  glance  is  as  yet  the 
fastest  known  time  made  in  the  universe. 


332  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

"  We  were  told  this  was  the  way  to  the  bishop's 
palace,"  said  Boston,  with  his  best  bow,  and  with 
the  unblushing  mendacity  men  are  capable  of 
summoning  on  such  occasions, 

"  You  are  quite  right,  sir.  Visitors  are  admitted 
during  the  bishop's  absence.  Will  you  please  step 
this  way  ?  " 

The  way  led  us  along  a  velvety  lawn  and  past 
sunny  and  exquisitely  trim  gardens.  We  followed 
with  alacrity  ;  or,  to  speak  with  entire  truthfulness, 
only  one  of  us  strictly  followed.  My  companion 
might  be  said  to  be  enjoying  a  personally  con- 
ducted tour  of  inspection.  For  so  great  became 
Boston's  interest  in  our  charming  guide's  intelli- 
gent explanations  of  the  ruined  hall,  the  moat,  the 
terrace,  and  the  wells,  that  insensibly,  doubtless,  he 
found  himself  walking  by  her  side  ;  and  the  paths 
were  narrow  (they  always  are  when  a  man  finds 
he  must  choose  between  two  women).  But,  reader, 
I  found  it  in  my  heart  to  forgive  him.  A  man  who 
could  have  remained  indifferent  under  the  soft  spell 
of  those  brown  eyes  and  that  blooming  complexion 
would  remain  unmoved  before  the  spectacle  of  his 
wife  in  her  best  gown.  One  ought  to  be  willing  to 
pay  the  price  for  discriminating  sensibility. 


Bishop's  Palace,  Wells  Cathedral: 


Page  332. 


WELLS,  AN  ENCHANTED  CITY.  333 

A  bishop's  palace  I  had  always  imagined  would 
be  different  from  the  dwelling,  however  regal,  of 
any  other  earthly  potentate ;  and  for  once  the  intui- 
tion was  sustained  by  reality.  We  had  seen  no 
such  collection  of  buildings  as  this  in  England. 
Perhaps  no  one,  indeed,  except  a  bishop  would 
have  dared  to  appropriate  so  much  of  earth,  on 
his  way  to  heaven,  for  purely  domestic  and  festi- 
val purposes.  The  conception  which  possessed 
the  ingenious  and  affluent  imagination  of  Bishop 
Jocelin  certainly  proved  him  a  colossus  in  magni- 
tude and  magnificence  of  design.  No  other  group 
of  buildings  so  triumphantly  attest  the  grandeur 
of  mediaeval  ecclesiasticism.  The  cathedral,  the 
chapter-house,  the  close,  were  in  the  original  plan 
to  be  but  a  portion  of  the  vast  whole.  The  tem- 
poral side  of  a  great  bishop's  state  was  to  be  rep- 
resented by  the  adjacent  palace,  engarlanded  by 
flower-beds,  terraces,  and  lawns.  The  plan,  one 
would  have  thought,  might  have  satisfied  the  most 
exacting  and  luxurious  of  thirteenth-century  bisli- 
ops.  But  when  the  palace  was  completed,  it  was 
found  to  be  on  too  modest  a  scale  for  the  next 
spiritual  incumbent ;  it  was  too  small  for  occasions 
of  state.     Bishop  Burnell  thereupon  in  1280,  with 


334  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

the  ease  with  which  great  lords  in  those  days  grati- 
fied a  want  or  indulged  a  caprice,  built  him  a  great 
hall.  The  praise  that  it  was  the  longest  episcopal 
hall  in  England  must  have  sounded  sweet  in  his 
ears.  Even  the  greatest  of  us  have  our  little 
vanities. 

The  great  banqueting-hall  lies  in  ruins  now.  A 
portion  of  the  walls  is  still  standing ;  but  the 
wide  vacant  windows,  with  their  suggestion  of 
festival  state,  are  as  so  many  yawning  graves. 
There  is  a  touch  of  malice  the  old  sculptors  little 
dreamed  they  were  hinting  in  the  grotesque  heads 
beneath  the  drip-stones.  They  surround  the  old 
ruin  like  a  band  of  jeering  demons,  grinning  as  if 
with  Satanic  glee  over  its  decay  and  abandonment. 

In  blooming  radiant  contrast  with  this  image  of 
death,  stands  the  palace.  It  is  a  gem-like  little 
building.  Its  ancient  portion  is  in  a  perfect  state 
of  preservation,  and  the  modern  additions  have 
been  made  with  admirable  taste.  Its  gables,  tur- 
rets, lancet  and  Tudor-muUioned  windows,  make  an 
enchanting  ensemble.  It  is  as  chastely  draped  as  a 
goddess,  with  its  flowing  garment  of  vines  and  ivy. 
A  glimpse  was  allowed  us  of  the  interior,  —  of  the 
gallery  with   its  groined   roof  and   richly  carved 


WELLS,  AN  ENCHANTED  CITY.  335 

doors,  and  of  the  vaulted  lower  story,  formerly  the 
old  cellar  and  entrance,  now  restored  and  used  as 
a  dining-room. 

"We  strolled  later  on  towards  the  terrace.  It 
overlooked  the  moat.  The  afternoon  sun  lay  warm 
and  dazzling  on  the  sparkling  waters,  on  the  ivy 
along  the  walls,  on  the  great  and  noble  trees  within 
the  park.  The  beauty  of  it  all  was  very  different 
from  that  of  the  night  before  ;  but  in  full  sunshine 
it  was  quite  as  much  a  region  of  pure  enchantment. 
The  views  were  as  varied  as  they  were  surpassingly 
lovely.  In  the  blue  distance  was  Glastonbury  Tor. 
Beyond  the  meadows,  in  the  park,  shone  the  jagged 
sides  of  Dulcot  Hill.  On  the  right,  through  the 
trees,  the  cathedral  towers  lifted  themselves  into 
the  blue  ether.  On  all  sides  the  hills  stretched 
away,  surrounding  the  country  and  enclosing  it,  as 
the  costly  cathedral  and  the  palace  were  enclosed 
by  their  own  walls  and  ancient  bastions  ;  it  was  a 
double  fortification. 

On  our  way  back  through  the  gardens  towards 
the  cloisters,  we  noticed  innumerable  wells  or 
springs,  lying  unenclosed  and  bubbling  with  life. 
These  wells  were  at  once  the  glory  and  the  origin 
of  the  city  itself,  our  guide  explained.     It  was  the 


336  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

discovery  and  the  prevalence  of  these  natural 
springs  which  decided  the  mediaeval  bishop  to  fix 
upon  Wells  as  the  seat  of  the  diocese.  The  moat 
is  still  fed  from  St.  Andrews,  — "  the  bottomless 
well,"  the  original  great  well  of  King  Ine.  It  still 
rises  close  to  the  palace,  and  falls  in  a  cascade  into 
the  moat.  All  the  centuries  have  not  run  it  dry. 
During  the  Middle  Ages  this  well  made  the  palace 
almost  impregnable.  Its  continued  abundance  has 
preserved  to  modern  eyes,  in  perfect  preservation, 
an  ideal  picture  of  those  earlier  methods  of  war- 
fare. In  our  own  day  the  well  has  felt  the  modern 
movement.  It  has  adapted  its  resources  to  modern 
utilitarianism ;  it  turns  several  mills,  besides  serv- 
ing to  cleanse  the  city's  streets. 

After  the  glare  on  the  terrace,  the  damp  sweet 
coolness  along  the  garden  paths  that  rimmed  the 
bubbling  springs  was  full  of  refreshment.  The 
delicate  sound  of  the  bubbling  waters  and  the  dis- 
tant notes  of  the  falling  cascade  made  a  delicious 
liquid  harmony.  No  other  music  but  that  faint 
silvery  tune  would  have  fitted  into  the  perfectly 
finished  surroundings,  or  would  have  seemed  in 
keeping  with  the  domestic  elegance  of  the  gem-like 
palace,  with  the  softened  tragedy  of  the   ruined 


WELLS,  AN  ENCHANTED  CITY.  337 

hall,  with  the  lovely  scents  and  perfume  of  the 
white  roses,  the  jessamine,  the  blooming  vines,  and 
above  all,  with  the  spiral  loftiness  of  the  cathedral 
towers.  The  melody  of  falling  water  is  the  most 
delicate  of  all  sensuous  sound,  —  it  is  music  with- 
out the  voluptuousness  of  rhythm. 

We  gave  ourselves  up  to  its  witchery  and  to  the 
scene.  We  might  stay  as  long  as  we  liked,  and 
walk  about,  our  charming  guide  considerately  said. 

"  For  the  cathedral,  sir,  you  see  is  quite  handy," 
she  added  at  leaving,  as  she  lifted  her  dark  eyes  in 
farewell  to  Boston. 

It  was  a  novel  view  to  take  of  so  impressive 
a  building,  this  of  a  cathedral  being  "  handy  ; " 
but  doubtless  she  only  unconsciously  reflected  the 
bishop's  own  view  of  the  edifice,  —  in  time,  very 
probably,  his  cathedral  does  come  to  assume  the 
aspect  of  a  personal  belonging.  Such  was  the  atti- 
tude of  the  older  holders  of  the  See  in  the  great 
Middle-Age  days ;  and  why  should  not  such  a  feel- 
ing be  hereditary,  along  with  the  office  and  the 
duties  ? 

In  whatever  light  the  present  bishop  may  view 

his  noble  temple,  there  can  be  no  finer  point  from 

which  to  see  it  in  its  fullest  beauty  than  from  his 
22 


338  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

own  gardens.  Subsequent  experimental  observa- 
tions, taken  at  various  other  points,  only  served 
to  confirm  this  first  decision.  First,  through  the 
trees  you  catch  exquisite  detached  bits,  —  the 
traceries  of  the  windows  in  the  Lady  Chapel  and 
the  southern  transept  framed  into  the  freer  breeze- 
blown  branches ;  then  the  entire  apsidal  portion, 
together  with  a  wonderful  view  of  the  whole  south- 
em  side,  transept,  central  and  western  towers, 
chapter-house,  and  Lady  Chapel,  rise  in  splendor 
above  the  tree-tops.  From  no  other  point  is  the 
cathedral  at  once  so  impressive  as  a  whole  and  so 
supremely  and  astonishingly  picturesque.  With 
such  a  review  of  its  great  and  stupendously  lovely 
beauties,  you  are  willing  to  accept  Wells  as  Messrs. 
Fergusson  and  Freeman  would  have  you,  —  you  are 
willing  to  declare  it  the  most  perfect  and  complete 
of  all  the  English  cathedrals. 

Then,  if  you  happen  to  be  less  of  a  critic  and 
master  of  technicalities  than  these  learned  gentle- 
men, if  you  will  persist  in  using  your  own  eyes,  even 
if  they  be  but  those  of  an  audacious  amateur,  as 
you  proceed  on  a  more  detailed  tour  of  investigation 
you  will  awake  to  the  surprise  of  discovering  that 
you  touched  the  climax  of  the  cathedral's  grandeur 


Wells  Cathedral,  from  Moat. 


WELLS,  AN  ENCHANTED  CITY.  339 

ill  that  first  view.  As  you  endeavor  to  spell  out  its 
various  portions,  you  cannot  avoid  encountering  two 
prodigious  disappointments  at  the  very  outset.  The 
frankness  of  full  daylight  will  reveal  the  fact  that 
the  western  front  is  a  failure,  —  a  positive,  unde- 
niable, and  obtrusive  failure.  This  is  the  more 
vexatious  since  it  possesses  in  a  high  degree  a 
distinct  note  of  impressiveness.  This  impressive- 
ness  is  due  to  the  effect  which  so  rich  a  multitude 
of  statues  must  inevitably  present.  Such  an  array 
of  serried  saints  and  martyrs  is  as  overwhelming 
as  an  army.  But  sculpture  should  be  to  architec- 
ture what  acting  is  to  the  drama.  It  should  be 
thought  embodied  in  action.  It  must  subordinate 
itself  to  the  feeling  it  is  meant  to  express.  In  this 
Wells  fagade  the  structural  values  are  displaced. 
The  architectural  design  is  but  a  screen  to  serve  as 
a  background  for  the  placing  of  the  figures  in 
position.  The  result  is  a  want  of  depth  and  ear- 
nestness in  the  superficial  architectural  lines,  which 
not  even  the  dignity,  the  grace,  and  the  irresistible 
simplicity  of  the  sculptures  themselves  can  supple- 
ment or  efface.  Added  to  this,  is  the  note  of 
discord  contributed  by  the  two  western  towers. 
Their  unfinished  tops,  for  all  their  refined  and 


340  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

noble  finish  of  detail,  gives  them  a  truncated  ap- 
pearance.   They  are  but  the  torsos  of  towers. 

The  next  shock  of  surprise  comes  from  the  first 
view  of  the  nave,  or,  to  speak  more  exactly,  of  the 
nave  and  the  inverted  arches  at  the  intersection 
of  the  transepts.  The  nave  itself  is  as  completely 
lovely  as  a  perfectly  finished  statue.  It  is  in  the 
very  best  style  of  the  Early  English  period.  The 
wonder  is  the  greater  that  it  should  have  been 
disfigured  by  these  curiously  incongruous  inverted 
tower  arches.  As  an  ingenious  and  clever  archi- 
tectural plan  for  strengthening  the  supports  of  the 
great  central  tower,  one  can  conceive  of  the 
project  being  admissible  on  paper;  but  one  is 
lost  in  horror  at  the  thought  of  so  monstrously 
ugly  a  conception  being  perpetuated  in  stone. 

This  fact  once  accepted,  and  the  additional  one 
that  all  perspective  is  rendered  impossible,  both 
by  reason  of  the  organ  and  the  arches,  and  the 
remainder  of  the  cathedral  will  be  found  almost 
unsurpassable  in  point  of  beauty.  Nowhere  in  the 
kingdom,  perhaps  nowhere  in  the  world,  will  be 
seen  such  a  combination  of  all  the  highest  elements 
of  architectural  beauty  as  one  finds  in  this  Wells 
choir,  in  its  exquisite  Lady  Chapel,  its  retro-choir, 


WELLS,  AN  ENCHANTED  CITY.  341 

and  in  its  adjoining  chapter-house.  Where  find 
such  varied  yet  harmonious  symmetry  of  design, 
such  spirited  yet  chastened  originality,  such  ele- 
gance in  proportion  combined  with  such  a  wealth 
of  elaboration  in  detail  ?  The  choir,  lofty,  impres- 
sive, and  gloriously  lighted ;  the  Lady  Chapel,  of 
such  extreme  beauty  as  makes  it  the  model  pro- 
duction of  the  very  best  age ;  the  retro-choir,  with 
its  symmetrical  arrangement  of  piers  and  clustered 
columns  ;  the  chapter-house,  reached  by  a  flight  of 
steps  as  beautiful  as  is  the  magnificent  building  to 
which  it  leads,  —  surely  such  a  collection  of  build- 
ings under  one  roof  is  rare  in  any  of  the  greatest 
building-ages.  It  is  sufficiently  rare  in  England  to 
win  one's  consent  to  the  verdict  of  those  who  know, 
to  a  full  and  complete  assent  with  their  praise  of 
Wells. 

These  gentlemen,  besides  their  praise,  will  tell 
you  that  Wells  was  completed  within  a  compara- 
tively short  period,  which  partly  accounts  for  its 
perfections.  There  was,  of  course,  an  early  Saxon 
cathedral  which  had  fallen  into  decay.  On  its 
ruins  rose,  in  the  thirteenth  century,  the  now  exist- 
ing nave,  transepts,  the  central  tower  as  high  as 
the  roof,  and  the  west  front.     The  apsidal  portions, 


342  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

the  choir,  Lady  Chapel,  and  chapter-house,  were  the 
work  of  subsequent  bishops  during  the  latter  part 
of  the  thirteenth  and  in  the  beginning  of  the  four- 
teenth century.  It  was  never  a  monastery  nor  a 
conventual  church,  but  was  always  held  as  a  cathe- 
dral proper.  The  cloisters,  in  proof  of  this,  are 
only  an  ornamental  walk  about  the  cemetery,  not 
designed  to  serve  as  a  part  of  a  monastic  enclosure. 
Of  all  the  bishops  whose  lives  and  careers  are 
most  closely  identified  with  this  bishopric  of  Bath 
and  Wells,  none  so  appeals  to  modern  sympathies 
as  does  the  blameless,  courageous  Bishop  Ken.  He 
owed  his  bishopric  to  the  latter  of  these  qualities, 
and  also  to  a  corresponding  generosity  rare  in  the 
make-up  of  kings.  He  it  was  who  at  Winchester 
had  the  courage  to  refuse  to  receive  that  fascinat- 
ing little  wanton  Nell  Gwynne,  who  had  accompa- 
nied her  royal  lover  on  a  visit  to  that  city.  When 
the  bishopric  of  Bath  and  Wells  became  vacant 
shortly  after,  Charles  H.  proved  himself  even  greater 
than  this  stout  Christian.  He  rose  to  the  height  of 
forgiving  an  injury.  "  Odd's  fist ! "  he  cried  to  his 
courtiers,  "  who  shall  have  Bath  and  Wells  but  the 
little  fellow  who  would  not  give  poor  Nellie  a  lodg- 
ing ? "     And  this  "  most  holy   and   primitive   of 


S) 

^ 


WELLS,  AN  ENCHANTED  CITY.  343 

bishops  "  could  thenceforth  take  his  strolls  on  yon- 
der lovely  terrace,  and  feast  his  poet's  eyes  on  the 
loveliness  of  this  goodly  estate,  until  he  was  ban- 
ished to  Longleat ;  for  he  fell  with  his  benefactor. 
But  the  author  of  those  poetic  hymns,  "  Morning, 
Evening,  and  Midnight,"  and  the  picture  which 
history  perpetuates  of  his  singing  to  his  lute  at 
sunrise,  as  was  his  daily  custom,  can  never  be  truly 
banished  from  the  memory  of  men,  not,  at  least,  so 
long  as  gentleness,  high  courage,  and  lofty  piety  are 
loved  and  reverenced  on  earth. 


344  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 


CHAPTER    XV 

TO  GLASTONBURY. 

nr^HE  next  morning,  as  we  were  strapping  the 
-*"  last  bag  a  few  moments  before  leaving,  an 
extraordinary  bustle  and  noise  came  up  the  street 
and  into  the  open  windows.  There  was  a  great 
clattering  of  horses'  hoofs,  a  clanking  of  heavy 
chains,  and  the  rumble  of  stout  wheels  over  the 
cobble-paved  streets. 

We  looked  out.  It  was  to  look  down  on  a 
brilliant  spectacle.  An  artillery  company  —  guns, 
troopers,  and  ofl&cers  whose  sabres  flashed  in  the 
morning  sun  —  were  clashing  along  the  narrow 
thoroughfare.  The  town  was  in  the  streets ;  at 
least  that  portion  of  it  which  was  not  craning  its 
feminine  neck  out  of  the  windows  was  gathered 
in  awed,  admiring  groups  on  the  sidewalk.  The 
groups  scattered  now  and  then,  only  to  re-form, 
as  the  four  or  five  young  officers  in  charge  of  the 
company  plunged  their  horses  into  the  midst  of 


TO   GLASTONBURY.  345 

the  crowd  to  ring  out  the  orders  along  the  line. 
The  troops,  though  evidently  wearj  and  whitened 
by  the  dust  of  prolonged  travel,  had  that  dashing, 
well-set-up  air  of  the  best  military  discipline  char- 
acteristic of  Englisli  soldiery.  They  were  only 
travellers  passing  through  a  little  provincial  town 
en  route  for  a  northern  city ;  but  they  entered  the 
narrow  street  as  if  they  were  an  army  come  to  take 
possession  of  an  enemy's  country.  Their  entry  was 
made  in  such  form  that  it  seemed  only  part  of  a 
well-arranged  series  of  attack. 

From  the  picturesque  point  of  view,  this  peace- 
able invasion  proved  as  good  as  a  veritable  assault. 
These  scarlet  coats  lit  up  the  dull  gray  streets 
into  flashing  brilliancy.  The  troopers'  backs  made 
a  long  line  of  flame  across  the  low  leaden-hued 
houses.  The  noise  and  the  bustle  in  the  streets 
made  a  bristling  accompaniment  to  the  clanking 
of  the  chains  and  the  heavy  thunder  of  the  gun- 
carriages.  The  town,  which  had  been  asleep  ac- 
cording to  its  custom  of  centuries,  had  suddenly 
waked  up.  Its  slow  pulse  had  been  galvanized  into 
a  new  life.  A  part,  at  least,  of  the  active  forces 
of  the  nineteenth  century  was  sweeping  along  its 
sluggish  stream,  and  the  tidal  wave  was  stirring 


346  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

the  slow  current.  It  was  curious  to  note  the  con- 
trast between  the  gaping  townspeople  and  these 
alert-looking  soldiers.  The  people  looked  on  in 
woodenish  wonder,  with  becalmed  eyes,  as  they 
stood  about  in  motionless  attitudes.  They  might 
have  been  a  fourteenth-century  instead  of  a  nine- 
teenth-century provincial  crowd,  so  alien  and  re- 
mote did  they  seem  to  the  stir  and  the  modern 
vigor  these  fine-looking  artillerymen  brought  with 
them.  It  is  only,  we  said  to  each  other,  as  we 
leaned  on  our  elbows,  looking  down  upon  the 
stirring  little  scene,  —  it  is  only  by  some  such 
sudden  and  vivid  contrasts  as  these,  —  by  the 
introduction  in  sharp  juxtapositions  of  these  two 
periods,  the  period  of  the  present  projected  into 
the  midst  of  this  fossilized  past,  that  one  can  be 
made  to  realize  fully  the  antique  spirit  that  still 
inhabits  these  mediaeval  towns.  Their  real  exis- 
tence appears  to  have  stopped  three  or  four  hun- 
dred years  ago.  They  have  lived  on  in  calm, 
pulseless  inactivity,  virile  only  in  the  sense  of 
being  representative  of  some  of  the  still  surviv- 
ing features  of  feudalism.  Their  real  life  is  in- 
rooted  in  the  past.  They  are  as  unmodern  and  as 
unprogressive  as  if  they  had  been  bottled  in  the 


TO   GLASTONBURY.  347 

Middle  Ages,  and  had  been  preserved  as  specimens 
of  the  mediaeval  in  the  Museum  of  the  Picturesque. 
Yet  who  would  have  it  otherwise  ?  These  little 
towns  are  the  nests  which  all  the  ages  have  been 
busy  making  for  the  immortal  mating  of  those 
fugitive  birds,  Art  and  Poetry.  Without  them  man 
would  be  as  sterile,  from  the  imaginative  point  of 
view,  as  a  North  American  Indian.  Their  lifeless 
unmodern  spirit  helps  to  create  and  sustain  the 
charming  illusion  of  their  remoteness,  and  the 
sense  of  their  historic  isolation.  Their  dulness 
seems  only  a  part  of  their  Quaker  grayness.  It  is 
a  calm  which  is  in  keeping  with  the  twilight  hush 
that  broods  under  their  cathedral  aisles.  Tims  they 
charm  into  drowsy  luxury  of  enjoyment  the  tour- 
ist's senses  and  faculties,  as  they  continue  to  live 
on  contentedly  in  the  torpor  of  retrospection,  by 
the  fine  subtle  opiates  of  their  matchless  beauty. 

These  and  other  profound  and  philosophic  reflec- 
tions were  brought  to  an  abrupt  close,  —  for  the 
troops  had  been  ordered  to  halt.  The  first  four  or 
five  gun-carriages  and  two  of  the  younger  officers 
were  to  be  quartered  on  our  inn.  In  the  twink- 
ling of  an  eye  the  troopers  were  off  their  horses, 
the   carriages   had  been   quickly  and  dexterously 


348  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

wheeled  into  the  courtyard,  and  a  moment  later 
the  officers'  swords  were  heard  clanking  along  the 
wooden  stairway. 

The  excitement  which  had  pervaded  the  town 
now  took  possession  of  our  little  inn.  It  was 
thrown  into  convulsive  throes  of  energy.  The 
energy,  however,  appeared,  by  auricular  evidence, 
to  be  concentrated  in  the  male  element  of  the  es- 
tablishment. The  hostlers  and  waiters  appeared 
to  be  in  lively  response  to  the  sudden  call  of  the 
emergency.  But  the  women  had  evidently  quite 
lost  their  heads.  The  maids  stood  about  in  con- 
scious pairs,  smiling  vacuously  at  the  troopers, 
twiddling  their  apron-strings.  It  was  painful  to 
learn,  on  Boston's  going  down  to  order  Ballad  to 
be  brought  round,  tliat  the  appearance  of  the  two 
young  officers  had  even  had  the  power  to  put  the 
handsome  landlady  in  a  flutter.  The  rule  that 
temporary  paralysis  invariably  sets  in  among  wo- 
men at  the  sight  of  a  few  brass  buttons  and  a 
uniform,  was  apparently  to  find  no  exception  in 
this  instance. 

We  were  soon  in  need  of  other  consolation  than 
a  talent  for  making  light  of  a  disagreeable  situa- 
tion.    We  waited   a  long  half-hour,  and   still  no 


TO   GLASTONBURY.  349 

Ballad.  As  the  sun  was  meanwhile  mounting 
high,  and  noon  was  approaching,  there  was  a 
better  reason  than  mere  irritation  for  our  impa- 
tience. 

"  Confound  the  women !  I  wish  they  could  do 
anything,  even  to  answering  a  bell-rope,  as  well 
as  a  man,"  cried  Boston,  in  his  disgust  and 
vexation. 

"  As  the  men  of  the  establishment  appear  to 
have  kept  their  heads,  I'll  go  and  see  if  I  can't 
impress  a  hostler,"  I  said.  "  There 's  nothing  like 
carrying  a  war  into  an  enemy's  camp."  And  I 
determinedly  opened  the  door. 

It  was  to  stumble  on  a  bit  of  genteel  comedy. 
In  the  door  directly  opposite  was  framed  the  fig- 
ure of  one  of  the  young  officers.  He  was  in  jaunty 
dSshahiUe,  and  was  holding  in  charmed  dialogue 
one  of  the  pretty  chambermaids.  Some  point  in 
his  gay  discourse  appeared  to  render  a  pinching 
of  the  latter's  rosy  cheek  necessarily  explanatory. 
The  girl  was  responding  by  a  dazed  little  courtesy. 
My  appearance  was  the  signal  for  a  hasty  dropping 
of  the  curtain.  The  door  was  shut  to  with  a  bang ; 
and  the  girl,  in  a  cloud  of  blushes,  disappeared 
round  an  angle  of  the  hall-way. 


350  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

It  was  our  fate  to  witness  still  another  encounter 
of  this  young  gallant,  which,  however,  did  not  have 
quite  so  brilliant  a  finish.  Ballad  had  been  at  last 
brought  to  the  door.  There  was  the  usual  delay 
in  the  courtyard  before  the  trap  was  entirely 
packed  and  loaded.  Then,  when  the  last  hostler 
had  strapped  the  last  strap  and  had  pocketed  the 
last  shilling,  we  issued  forth  to  drive  slowly  and 
lingeringly  out  of  the  little  town.  We  had  turned, 
as  was  our  wont,  to  take  a  farewell  glimpse  of  the 
cathedral,  at  the  first  corner  which  was  to  hide 
the  great  structure  behind  a  wall  of  house-fronts. 
As  our  eyes  gradually  descended  from  the  glitter- 
ing tower-tops,  swimming  in  noon-light,  into  the 
glare  of  the  streets,  with  a  black  shadow  cut  here 
and  there  by  an  eave  or  a  window-ledge,  three 
figures  stood  out  in  brilliant  contrast  against  the 
whitened  house-facades.  Two  of  the  figures  were 
those  of  the  two  young  officers.  They  were  re- 
splendent in  scarlet  coats  and  gold  lace.  The 
third  was  that  of  a  young  lady,  tall  and  gracefully 
slender.  She  was  walking  along  close  beneath  the 
wide  window-ledges,  to  catch  what  shade  their 
broad  shelter  might  afford.  She  was  carrying,  as 
is  the  custom  of  English  ladies  in  rural  cities,  a 


TO   GLASTONBURY.  351 

small  wicker  basket  filled  with  odds  and  ends  of 
shopping.  A  carriage  followed  slowly  behind.  As 
the  three  figures  advanced,  there  was  a  little  well- 
bred  start  of  surprise  on  the  part  of  the  young  offi- 
cers ;  their  hats  were  raised,  and  mutual  greetings 
were  interchanged  ;  but  beneath  the  young  lady's 
richly  feathered  Gainsborough,  a  frigid  distant 
smile  met  the  eyes  bent  upon  her.  Two  languid 
finger-tips  were  extended,  a  monosyllable  or  two 
were  uttered,  and  she  passed  on. 

"  I  'm  glad  they  were  snubbed,  —  and  she  was 
pretty  too,"  I  said  to  Boston,  as  we  turned  a 
corner. 

"Why  were  you  glad?  They  were  perfectly  civil, 
apparently,  and  they  were  rather  fine-looking  too,  in 
their  way,"  answered  Boston,  in  the  tone  men  use 
when  they  feel  it  necessary  to  defend  one  another. 

"  Oh,  they  were  good-looking  enough,  but  they 
had  such  a  London  swagger,  and  such  a  London- 
er's talent  for  losing  no  time  in  sowing  a  wild  oat 
or  two.     The  modern  man  —  " 

"  The  modern  man  sows  fewer  than  his  grand- 
fathers did." 

"  That 's  only  a  relative  progress.  Society  will 
never  be  on  a  truly  right  basis  until  —  " 


352  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

"  My  dear,  I  '11  grant  anything.  It 's  getting  too 
hot  for  temperate  argument  or  even  for  sane  talk 
of  any  sort.  Would  you  mind  holding  your  para- 
sol out  of  my  eyes,  please  ?  " 

The  heat  was,  in  truth,  tropical.  It  was  as  hot 
as  Naples  or  New  York.  Besides  the  heat  to 
endure,  there  was  a  sirocco  of  dust.  Why,  of  all 
days,  had  we  chosen  this  one  for  a  noon  drive  ? 
Why  had  we  not  kept  to  our  lately  discovered  plan 
of  starting  at  sundown  and  arriving  in  the  small 
hours,  in  the  cool  of  the  night,  at  our  destination  ? 
We  kept  repeating  this  question  —  asked  unwisely 
all  too  late,  else  there  would  be  no  errors  in  life  to 
regret  —  most  of  the  way  along  our  torrid  high-road 
to  Glastonbury.  The  road,  the  views,  the  land- 
scape, were  spoiled  for  us.  The  sun  beat  his  fierce 
light  on  a  road  as  destitute  of  shade  as  a  plain. 
The  dust  was  as  a  wall  between  us  and  the  out- 
lying country.  This  drive  from  Wells  to  Glaston- 
bury may  be  the  most  beautiful  in  England  ;  for 
us  it  proved  only  an  eight-mile  journey  of  torture. 
The  sole  point  of  interest,  as  we  neared  the  low- 
lying  hills  about  Glastonbury  was  centred  for  us 
in  the  All-Weary  Hill,  where  in  the  dim  early 
centuries  Joseph  of  Arimathea  was   supposed  to 


TO  GLASTONBURY.  853 

have  finally  rested  after  his  long  brave  pilgrimage. 
With  that  ardent  disciple  we  felt  now  a  new  bond 
of  sympathy.  Our  belief  in  the  reality  of  his  pres- 
ence here  was  strengthened  by  the  need  of  the 
proof  that  so  reliable  a  fellow-traveller  had  sur- 
vived the  journey.  Much  after  all,  perhaps,  of  our 
fine  incredulity  regarding  certain  mythical  state- 
ments might  be  changed  into  quickened  belief  were 
more  of  us,  in  these  more  comfortable  days,  sub- 
jected to  the  commoner  hardships  of  life.  We  are 
out  of  touch  with  the  old  martyr's  hardships  and 
the  toil  of  the  early  disciple's  daily  life ;  we  no 
longer  live  in  conditions  which  make  the  Apos- 
tle's simple  faith  or  the  propagandist's  fervent  un- 
dismayed audacity  realizable.  From  the  purely 
physical  standpoint  we  are  removed  from  them  by 
far  more  than  mere  centuries  of  time.  We  are 
too  well  fed,  too  warm,  too  rested  to  believe  very 
acutely  in  willing  ascetics,  in  voluntary  nakedness, 
or  in  gladly  self-enforced  labor  and  toil.  Physi- 
cally, our  conditions  are  as  changed  as  morally  we 
stand  far  removed  from  the  early  primitive  condi- 
tions under  which  great  spiritual  deeds  were  possi- 
ble and  almost  easy.    If  Boston  and  I,  for  instance, 

had  arrived  here  in  Glastonbury  by  train,  unwearied, 

23 


354  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

unheated,  unvexed  by  dust  and  the  discomfort 
of  enduring  a  broiling  sun  for  nearly  two  hours, 
our  interest  in  Joseph  of  Arimathea  and  the  story 
of  his  resting  on  yonder  hill  would  have  fallen, 
without  doubt,  on  dull,  incredulous  ears  ;  but  a 
little  dust,  heat,  and  fatigue  made  him  and  his 
journey  seem  entirely  real.  As  a  traveller,  his 
experiences  over-topped  ours,  it  is  true  ;  but  had 
he  suddenly  appeared  among  us,  we  should  have 
sat  down  at  the  common  board,  —  there  must  have 
been  tavern-boards  even  in  his  time,  —  we  should 
have  interchanged  experiences  and  clasped  the 
hand  of  fellowship  and  rejoicing. 

Had  neither  history  nor  guide-books  been  written 
to  establish  the  authentic  antiquity  of  Glastonbury, 
its  age  would  have  written  itself.  The  town,  as 
we  drove  into  it,  had  the  unmistakable  mouldi- 
ness  which  centuries  of  life  and  bygone  careers 
leave  as  a  part  of  historic  deposit.  The  church 
towers  looked  more  like  fortresses  than  belfries ; 
and  the  narrow  streets  had  the  richness  of  gray 
coloring  which  old  stones  yield.  The  bits  of  moss, 
of  lichens,  the  tufts  of  foliage  here  and  there  in  the 
chinks  of  the  old  houses  and  in  the  cracks  of  the 
old  walls,  were  like  the  gray,  stumpy  bits  of  beard 


TO  GLASTONBURY.  355 

old  men  grow,  too  thoroughly  inrooted  in  unyield- 
ing soil  to  obey  the  razor  or  the  scythe. 

Chiefest  and  most  beautiful  of  the  old  houses  in 
this  still  ancient  Glastonbury  is  the  George  Inn. 
The  architectural  authorities  who  tell  you  so  much 
of  its  beauty  do  not  tell  you  enough  of  its  charm. 
The  beauty  lies  in  the  unity  and  grace  of  its 
facade ;  but  the  charm  is  to  be  found  in  its  hav- 
ing preserved  so  astonishingly  the  old  methods  of 
living.  The  walls  are  thicker,  for  instance,  than 
many  of  the  rooms  are  wide.  The  light  which 
came  through  the  picturesque  mullioned  windows 
was  scanty  and  treacherous.  The  little  sitting- 
room,  which  was  coffee-room,  inn-parlor,  and  com- 
mercial room  in  one,  was  as  darkly  lighted  as  a 
dungeon,  and  not  much  more  commodious.  It  would 
have  been  impossible,  in  a  word,  on  a  hot  noonday 
to  have  been  more  antiquely  uncomfortable.  Our 
ancestors  presumably  considered  the  compensations 
of  safety  as  a  happy  exchange  for  larger  comfort 
or  freedom.  But  the  nineteenth  century,  which 
lias  no  use  for  walled  towns  or  narrow  streets  or 
thick  walls,  prefers,  on  the  whole,  rather  to  play  at 
mediaevalism  than  to  live  it.  This  was  our  own 
first    experience    of    a    genuine    fifteenth-century 


356  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

luncheon  in  a  fifteenth-century  inn.  The  comely 
serving-maid  who  brought  in  yesterday's  shoulder 
of  lamb,  a  huge  cheese,  and  tankards  of  beer  of  the 
size  and  quantity  accredited  in  fiction  to  the  heroes 
of  that  strong  age,  made  the  fitting  human  com- 
pletion to  the  rest  of  the  picture,  —  to  the  little 
dark  room,  with  its  low  ceilings,  its  fortress-like 
walls,  and  its  rough  deal  furniture.  There  was 
nothing  to  mar  the  unity  of  the  whole  as  a  mas- 
terly bit  of  mediaeval  reproduction.  As  a  final 
touch,  there  were  the  grunting  of  pigs  and  the 
cackling  of  hens  in  the  courtyard,  added  to  which 
was  the  pervasive  odor  of  manure  and  hay  from 
the  stables,  which,  for  convenience  doubtless,  had 
been  built  directly  beneath  the  inn's  sitting-room 
windows. 

The  innkeeper  appeared  to  be  enough  of  a  con- 
noisseur in  architecture  to  prefer  a  prolonged  con- 
templation of  the  unequalled  beauties  of  the  exterior 
of  this  famous  little  inn,  to  subjecting  himself  to 
any  reminders  of  its  internal  deficiencies.  On  our 
arrival  we  had  found  him  planted,  with  legs  wide 
apart,  at  a  comfortable  angle  for  a  protracted  survey, 
beneath  one  of  the  lower  windows.  He  was  still 
there  when,  after  luncheon,  we  had  come  to  the 


TO  GLASTONBURY.  357 

point  of  asking  our  way  to  the  abbey.  He  was 
again  at  his  post  when  we  returned  some  two  hours 
later. 

Our  way,  he  told  us,  was  not  far.  We  were  to 
cross  the  street,  turn  under  yonder  old  archway, 
take  a  little  alley  to  our  right,  follow  between  the 
two  high  walls  till  we  reached  a  small  green  door 
which  would  open  at  the  touch  of  a  bell.  All  this 
sounded  very  mysterious  and  inviting ;  for  ruins 
in  these  old  countries  have  come  to  be  as  guarded 
and  as  ingeniously  tucked  away  as  bits  of  hidden 
treasure.  To  the  stranger,  part  of  their  charms 
perhaps  lies  in  these  quaint  and  curiously  unex- 
pected methods  of  approach.  The  homeliness  of 
this  path  along  wliich  we  were  proceeding,  for  in- 
stance, made  our  first  sight  of  tlie  great  abbey's 
ruins  doubly  impressive.  We  passed  through  a 
courtyard  filled  with  farm-wagons,  rakes,  and 
scythes.  The  long  wall  closed  about  rows  of 
straggling,  weary-looking  old  houses ;  and  the  lit- 
tle green  door  seemed  not  unlike  those  mysteri- 
ously commonplace  doors  in  fairy-land  which,  once 
opened,  usher  one  into  paradise  itself. 

This  particular  paradise  was  a  paradise  of  ruins. 
Glastonbury   Abbey   lies    mostly   on   the   ground. 


358  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

Such  portions  of  it  as  are  still  standing  are  the 
debris  of  a  colossus.  No  one  thing  so  strikes 
upon  the  eye  at  a  first  glance  as  docs  tlie  im- 
mensity of  it  all,  —  the  tremendous  sweep  of  lawn, 
once  entirely  covered  with  the  old  conventual  build- 
ings ;  the  grandeur  of  the  still  remaining  walls, 
whose  fitting  roof  seems  heaven's  vast  vault ;  and 
the  still  standing  glory  of  the  great  trees,  whose 
tops  overhang  the  nave  aisles.  It  would  be  impos- 
sible, I  think,  for  a  magnificent  building  in  ruins 
and  Nature,  grandly,  nobly  alive,  to  form  a  more 
deeply  and  profoundly  impressive  union  than  do 
these  Glastonbury  enclosures.  Nature  has  supple- 
mented what  time  and  the  desecration  of  man  have 
attempted  to  destroy.  These  great  lawns  and  giant 
trees  have  preserved  at  least  something  of  that  gran- 
deur which  must  have  been,  even  during  its  greatest 
day  of  glory,  the  noblest  feature  of  this  abbey. 

That  the  abbey  and  its  dependencies  once  cov- 
ered sixty  acres  of  ground  seems  entirely  realizable, 
with  this  splendid  sweep  of  velvet  before  one.  The 
branches  of  the  trees,  as  they  play  beneath  the 
touch  of  the  light  winds,  are  Nature's  gracious  sub- 
stitute for  the  lofty  vaulting  which  once  covered 
the  long  stretch  from  yonder  distant  nave  to  this 


TO   GLASTONBURY.  359 

crumbling,  aerially  roofed  St.  Joseph's  Chapel. 
The  latter,  even  in  its  decay,  is  still  one  of  the 
most  perfect  examples  of  the  transitional  period. 
The  Norman  windows,  with  their  rich  embroidery 
of  tooth-work  and  of  embattled  mouldings ;  the 
slender  nave  aisles,  with  their  semicircular  arches 
covered  with  roses,  crescents,  and  stars  in  the 
spandrels ;  the  noble  doors,  massive  in  their  struc- 
tural solidity, — make  such  a  fusion  of  the  best  later 
Norman  features  and  the  Early  English  nascent 
forms  as  is  unmatched  for  harmonious  unity.  As 
one  deciphers  the  half-obliterated  features  of  this 
once  supremely  lovely  little  building,  one  is  lost  in 
a  rapture  of  wonderment  as  to  what  its  perfect  and 
completed  whole  must  have  been.  What  a  miracle 
of  luxuriance  in  ornament,  what  a  harmony  of 
flowing  lines,  and  what  an  infinity  of  device  in  it 
all !  Such  portions  of  the  great  abbey  as  are  still 
standing — the  tall  side  walls,  the  few  bits  of  sculp- 
ture still  traceable  in  St.  Mary's  Chapel,  the  pier- 
arches,  and  the  short,  broken  bits  of  vaulting  here 
and  there — everywhere  repeat  these  notes  of  afflu- 
ent richness  in  design,  and  the  superabundance  of 
ornamental  wealth,  which  St.  Joseph's  Chapel  first 
reveals.     The  abbey  was  built,  in  a  word,  before 


360  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

the  sculptor's  chisel  or  the  architect's  inventiveness 
had  begun  to  tire.  Both  here  rioted  in  the  sense 
of  an  almost  reckless  fertility  of  invention.  The 
Norman  died  here  in  a  blaze  of  glory.  The  truer, 
more  native  Early  English  was  cradled  into  birth 
by  a  parent  whose  own  life  was  ending  in  the 
midst  of  a  transfigured  glory. 

That  the  abbey  was  as  rich  in  worldly  posses- 
sions as  it  was  glorious  in  architectural  splendor, 
is  a  part  of  that  history  which  made  these  great 
mediaeval  monasteries  such  a  wondrous  paradox. 
Within  these  sixty  acres  reigned  for  centuries  a 
stupendous  conventual  hierarchy.  These  Benedic- 
tine monks  had  foresworn  the  world,  only  to  re- 
possess its  luxuries  under  more  assured  conditions. 
When  Henry  VIII.  came,  they  had  become  so 
drugged  with  the  rich  poisoned  wines  of  enjoyment, 
that  not  only  the  monks  but  the  abbot  himself 
turned  thief  and  common  pilferer.  The  abbey 
treasures  were  deliberately  stolen,  hidden  away,  or 
sold  by  the  pious  ascetics  who  had  voluntarily  taken 
the  vows  of  poverty  and  sanctity.  Torre  Hill,  on 
which  now  bristles  a  sturdy  tower,  commemorates 
Henry's  view  of  the  situation.  The  abbot  who 
refused  to  yield  up  his  abbey  into  his  king's  hands, 


TO   GLASTONBURY.  361 

and  then  began  a  deliberate  system  of  thieving  to 
insure  at  least  the  possession  of  the  abbey's  treas- 
ures, paid  for  his  short-sighted  political  sagacity 
and  impiety  with  his  life.  With  Whiting's  execu- 
tion, the  monastery  was  confiscated  to  the  use  of 
the  more  powerful  king.  It  was  abandoned,  and 
finally  crumbled  into  ruin  ;  but  in  its  decay  its 
utility  may  be  said,  perhaps,  to  have  begun.  The 
magnificent  pile,  as  liave  so  many  of  the  great 
buildings  at  Rome,  served  as  a  quarry  for  desecrat- 
ing builders.  Half  of  Glastonbury  town,  as  well 
as  the  long  causeway  across  the  Sedgemoor,  has 
been  constructed  out  of  its  fallen  mass  of  ruins. 

There  are  two  incidents  in  the  history  of  Glas- 
tonbury which  stand  out  in  luminous  relief  against 
the  background  of  its  later  monkish  luxury  and  its 
earlier  days  of  ascetic  piety.  The  one  is  the  story 
of  the  life  and  career  of  Abbot  Dunstan.  The 
record  of  his  brilliant  achievements  reads  all  the 
better  in  the  pages  of  serious  history,  as  a  welcome 
relief  to  the  interminable  chronicle  of  the  wars 
with  the  Danes,  the  chief  political  and  military 
events  of  his  day.  But  there  is  a  tender  episode  in 
his  career  which  has  always  seemed  to  me  to  throw 
a  flood  of  light  on  the  customs  and  manners  of  a 


362  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

period  we  are  wont  to  liken  to  Cimmerian  dark- 
ness. In  his  earlier  days  Dmistan,  like  Abelard, 
as  well  versed  as  he  in  the  learning,  philosophy, 
and  poetry  of  his  day,  was  followed  by  a  train  of 
pupils.  The  versatility  of  his  gifts  is  proved  by  the 
statement  that  a  lady  summons  him  to  her  house 
to  design  a  robe  she  is  embroidering.  He  and  her 
maidens  bend  together  over  their  task ;  and  a  harp, 
which  he  has  strung  on  the  wall,  "  sounds  without 
mortal  touch  in  dulcet  tones."  The  monk  had 
anticipated  the  modern  aesthete,  you  see,  by  just 
a  thousand  years  ;  but  he  was  a  better  lover  than 
the  emasculated  specimens  which  hyperculture 
breeds  in  our  day.  As  monk  at  Glastonbury, 
Dunstan  became  the  spiritual  guide  of  a  woman  of 
high  rank,  whose  virtues  were  as  great  as  her 
beauty  was  rare.  In  the  simple,  fervid  English  of 
those  days  the  chronicler  says,  "  and  he  ever  clave 
to  her,  and  loved  her  in  wondrous  fashion."  It 
was  only  at  her  death  that  he  became  abbot. 

The  other  incident  in  the  history  of  Glastonbury 
is  the  one,  above  all  others,  -which  aureoles  it  with 
the  halo  of  poetic  associations. 

The  picture  glows  with  the  color  of  tradition. 
Two  monks  go  forth  into  the  morning  to  dig,  in 


TO  GLASTONBURY.  363 

the  now  untraceable  cemetery,  the  grave  of  one  of 
the  brothers.  As  the  earth  yields  to  their  labor, 
their  tools  strike  hard  against  a  stone.  Beneath 
the  stone  rests  a  stout  oaken  coffin.  They  wrench 
the  coffin  open,  and  behold,  within  lies  the  figure  of 
a  kingly,  stalwart  man,  on  whose  breast  rests  the 
head  of  a  yellow-haired  woman.  The  figures  are 
none  other  than  those  of  the  stainless  king  and  his 
erring  and  beautiful  Guinevere.  A  leaden  cross 
beneath  the  stone  bears  the  inscription,  "  Hie  jacet 
sepultus  inclytus  Rex  Arthurus  in  insula  Aval- 
Ionia."  The  story  appears  almost  too  obviously 
in  consonance  with  the  demands  of  historic  justice 
to  be  taken  for  historic  truth.  Launcelot  and  the 
poets  having  done  their  uttermost  to  perpetuate 
Guinevere's  perfidy  during  her  husband's  lifetime, 
the  historians  have  felt  it,  perhaps,  to  be  but  the 
barest  justice  to  place  them,  indisputably,  side  by 
side  in  death. 

Legend  and  poetry  seem  far  more  fitting  notes 
to  issue  forth  from  these  "  ruined  choirs  "  than  the 
reminders  of  the  monks'  fat  living  and  their  deep 
wassailing,  which  the  massive  square  kitchen  re- 
calls. The  building  stands  almost  intact,  beyond 
the    main    ruins.      The   cowled    brethren   of  the 


364  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries,  with  such  a 
capacious  little  fortress  as  their  cuisine,  were  as- 
suredly not  starved.  What  a  refinement  of  aes- 
thetic and  religious  epicureanism  is  suggested  by 
such  a  chapel  as  St.  Joseph's,  in  which  to  worship 
of  a  morning,  and  the  sitting  down  after  Mass  to 
such  a  dinner  as  these  huge  spits  and  yawning 
ovens  must  have  furnished  !  One  must  be  brought 
face  to  face  with  such  a  spectacle  as  Glastonbury 
presents  even  in  its  ruins,  to  have  some  of  the 
great  pictures  of  the  past  thrilled  with  a  new  life 
and  meaning.  To  read  of  such  a  monastery  as 
this  and  the  history  of  its  career,  from  its  estab- 
lishment sixty  years  after  Christ  to  the  dramatic 
finale  on  Torre  Hill,  can  scarcely  fail  to  interest 
the  least  imaginative  reader ;  but  to  stand  here 
within  sight  of  these  giant  walls,  before  these 
vast  perspectives  and  their  crumbling  glories,  is  to 
have  the  shadowy  aisles  filled  with  the  pomp  and 
splendor  of  those  bygone  ceremonials,  with  the 
long  procession  of  the  Benedictine  Brothers,  with 
the  kingly  abbot,  who,  as  he  swept  in  state  from 
his  monastery  along  the  cloistered  walk,  could  rest 
his  eye  on  a  fair  and  smiling  country,  which,  far  as 
he  could  see,  was  all  his  own.    As  the  choir-boys' 


I 


TO  GLASTONBURY.  365 

chorals  smote  his  ear,  heaven  and  earth  must  in- 
deed have  seemed  to  clap  their  hands  for  joy  over 
so  royal  a  possession.  Perhaps,  if  the  sons  of 
heaven  had  not  attempted  to  appropriate  so  much 
of  earth,  the  swift-footed  Nemesis  of  the  Reforma- 
tion might  have  stayed  its  speed.  It  is  a  pity 
that  these  brethren  could  not  have  gone  out  in  a 
greater  blaze  of  spiritual  glory.  One  would  like  to 
cover  the  abbey  ruins  with  the  veil  of  a  sentimental 
tissue  woven  of  wholesome  admiration ;  but  the 
monks  were  such  a  poor  hybrid  of  man  and  beast 
that  Henry  VIIL  for  once  at  least  poses  as  a 
righteous  executioner. 


366  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

TO  EXETEE. 

'THHE  drive  to  Bridge  water  was  a  dull  one,  in 
-■"  spite  of  our  having  secured  the  twilight 
as  a  torch  and  the  stars  as  fellow-travellers. 
Bridgewater  was  as  dull  as  its  approaches,  the 
town  being  in  the  heart  of  a  long  stretch  of  flat 
lands,  the  sole  uninteresting  feature  we  had  seen 
on  the  face  of  this  lovely  Somersetshire.  Bridge- 
water,  however,  might  have  been  even  less  attrac- 
tive than  we  found  it,  and  it  would  still  have 
been  fraught  to  us  with  a  serious  import,  for  our 
reaching  it  at  all  was  to  mark  an  epoch  in  our 
journey. 

It  had  been  decided  at  Salisbury,  between  two 
tall  and  viciously  feeble  candles  that  refused  to 
shed  any  save  the  most  meagre  light  on  the 
county-maps,  the  guide-books,  and  the  discussion, 
that  we  should  go  from  Bridgewater  to  Exeter  by 
train.     This  decision  had  not  been  arrived  at,  as 


TO  EXETER.  367 

may  well  be  imagined,  without  much  and  serious 
thought.  The  inception  of  the  plan  had  grown  out 
of  a  mistaken  policy  of  which  we  had  never  been 
wholly  able  to  rid  ourselves,  —  the  folly  of  asking 
advice.  The  hills  about  Bath  and  the  betrayal  of 
Ballad's  weakness  in  the  matter  of  ankles  had 
engendered  the  vague  fear  in  our  minds  that  the 
Devonshire  hills  might  prove  to  be  even  more 
prolific  in  disaster  than  Stonehenge  and  Coombe 
Down.  On  one  or  two  incautious  occasions  we 
mentioned  our  fears  to  a  friendly  Somersetshire 
hostler ;  thereupon  the  entire  county  seemed  to 
arise  as  one  man  to  save  us  from  what,  it  appears, 
would  be  certain  peril. 

"  He  's  too  light,  sir  ;  he  ain't  up  to  such  rough 
work." 

"  The  hills,  sir,  why,  the  hills  is  like  the  sides  of 
a  house ;  an'  he 's  for  easy-goin'  travel,  he  is." 

"  You  'd  be  left  high  and  dry,  tak'  my  word  for 
it,  sir ;  he  'd  drop  on  your  hands  after  the  first 
mile  of  stiff  climbing." 

When  hostlers  agree,  how  is  the  untutored,  un- 
horsey  mind  to  stand  firm  ?  We  weakly  yielded  ; 
and  on  one  particularly  bright,  late  August  morn- 
ing we   all  three    took   the  morning  express  to 


CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

Exeter.  The  gain  to  Ballad  of  such  an  arrange- 
ment was  obvious.  Securely  fastened  in  the  freight- 
car,  he  was,  perhaps,  for  the  first  time  since  the 
beginning  of  his  travels,  able  to  enjoy  the  scenery 
from  an  impersonal  critical  stand-point.  Our  own 
loss  of  two  days'  driving  through  the  Devonshire 
lanes  and  hills  was  equally  certain. 

Through  the  narrow  slits  of  the  railway-carriage 
windows  it  was  possible,  however,  to  snatch  swift 
if  unsatisfactory  glimpses  of  the  country.  For  at 
least  a  third  of  our  journey  we  were  to  be  in 
Somersetshire ;  the  landscape,  therefore,  still  wore 
the  smile  of  a  friend.  The  morning,  had  it  been 
made  to  order,  could  hardly  have  been  better 
chosen  for  this  our  last  view  of  this  noble  county. 
The  sky  had  just  the  right  quality  of  tone,  and  the 
atmosphere  the  perfect  note  of  clearness,  to  bring 
into  harmony  the  distant  hill-lines  and  the  softness 
of  the  nearer  meadows.  The  country  seemed  to 
roll  away  as  if  in  happy,  conscious  abandonment 
towards  the  brilliant  edges  of  the  morning  horizon, 
carrying  with  it  the  wondrously  tender  green  and 
gold  and  brown  undulations.  In  the  valleys  the 
shadows  were  still  nestling,  as  if  loath  to  leave  their 
midnight  camping-grounds ;  on  the  hills  was  still 


TO  EXETER.  369 

lingering  the  faint  blue  mist,  the  breath  of  the  not 
too  broadly  B-wakened  day. 

In  spite,  however,  of  such  a  banquet  of  beauty 
for  a  morning  repast,  the  haunting  sense  of  regret 
was  not  wholly  stilled.  A  carriage  rolling  leisurely 
along  a  well-shaded  lane,  raising  a  light  cloud  of 
white  dust,  which  the  whiter  smoke  of  the  train 
voraciously  devoured,  seemed  to  emphasize  with 
peculiar  impressiveness  the  poignancy  of  our  re- 
morse. Why  had  we  been  wise  ?  What,  after  all, 
were  perpendicular  hills  compared  to  the  joy  and 
delight  of  our  lost  open-air  days,  with  their  leisurely 
calm,  with  Nature  at  arm's  length,  and  Adventure 
perhaps,  plumed  hat  and  sword  in  hand,  to  meet  us 
en  route  ?  The  hills,  now  that  we  faced  them, 
seemed  commonplace  enough,  like  most  of  the 
troubles  in  life  which  experience  levels  to  the 
reach  of  our  capacity.  Already,  what  with  our 
regret  and  remorse,  the  whole  of  our  enchanting 
tour  seemed  to  belong  to  a  part  of  our  past,  —  a 
glorious  bit  of  experience  relegated  to  the  perspec- 
tive of  retrospect  instead  of  being  the  living,  acting 
present. 

One  event  in  our   journey  dispelled  for  a  time 

these  dismal   thoughts.     This   event  was   our  en- 

24 


370  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

trance  into  Devon.  The  country  gave  us  no  en- 
lightening hint  of  the  precise  moment  when  we 
should  cross  the  boundary-line  between  the  two 
counties.  But  a  short  distance  before  reaching 
Taunton  our  sole  fellow-traveller,  a  young  Britisher 
of  florid  aspect,  who  had  been  diligently  engaged 
in  reading  a  strangely  familiar-looking  little  brown 
book,  "  The  Tourist's  Guide  to  Devon,"  remarked, 
"  We  shall  be  in  Devon  in  a  few  moments,"  imme- 
diately resuming  the  perusal  of  the  little  brown 
book.  He  belonged  to  the  class  of  tourists  who 
prefer  to  see  scenery  and  a  new  country  properly 
bound  between  the  pages  of  a  book,  with  well- 
arranged  notes  and  statistical  information ;  they 
are  then  quite  sure  of  doing  the  thing  thoroughly. 

It  was  at  Wellington,  several  miles  farther  on, 
that  the  first  proofs  of  a  distinctly  different  and 
alien  beauty  in  the  scenery  proclaimed  that  Devon 
was  equal  to  maintaining  its  reputation  for  certain 
high  qualities.  The  land  all  at  once  took  on 
strange  depressions  and  abrupt  alternations.  Sud- 
denly there  burst,  on  our  sight  a  magnificent 
stretch  of  country.  The  spurs  of  the  Black  Hills 
projected  into  the  landscape  with  the  ruggedness 
of  robust  mountains.     Farther  on,  the  rude  little 


TO  EXETER.  371 

villages,  the  primitive-looking  huts,  and  the  com- 
paratively sparse  population  proved  that  the  wilder 
characteristics  for  which  Devon  is  so  much  praised 
are  no  fable.  The  romantic  character  of  the  land 
deepened  in  charm  as  we  sped  along ;  the  streams 
were  fuller  and  the  dells  more  sylvan,  while  there 
was  a  bolder  vigor  of  outline  about  the  uplands 
and  the  remoter  hills  which  made  the  feet  long  to 
press  them. 

No  one  —  at  least  no  American,  I  think  —  enters 
Devon  without  experiencing  a  peculiar  thrill  of 
interest.  It  may  be  partly  because  the  imagina- 
tion has  been  stirred  immemorially  by  historians 
and  novelists,  by  the  traditions  and  descriptions  of 
the  romantic  character  of  its  scenery,  or  it  may 
be  due  to  its  noble  historic  periods  and  its  prolific 
breeding  of  heroes  and  heroic  deeds  ;  but  certain 
it  is  that  no  other  English  county  appeals  to 
American  sympathies  with  just  the  same  quality 
of  magnetic  attraction  as  do  the  hills  and  the 
streams  of  Devonshire.  Although  it  is  English 
to  its  heart-core,  in  crossing  its  boundaries  one 
has  the  sense  of  entering  a  different,  though  not 
a  foreign,  country.  It  seems  to  be  apart  from 
the  rest  of  England.     One  has  a  vague  sense  that 


372  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

its   Exmoor  hills  and   its   Dartmoor   forests    still 
abound  in  picturesque  episodes,  as  they  do  in  their 
legends  of  pixies  and  fairies,     Devon  is  the  fairy- 
land of  the  imagination  ;  it  continues,  by  the  sheer 
force   of  the   magic   that  lies  in   its   history  and 
scenery,  to  be  a  part  of  the  romance  of  our  own 
lives.     One  of  us,  I  remember,  in  his  enthusiasm, 
went  to   the   length   of   finding  plausible  reasons 
for  these  enchanting  Devon  characteristics,  —  for 
its  individuality,  its  still-continued  halo  of  romance, 
and  its   appeal   to   our   transatlantic   sympathies. 
The  solution  of  them  all  was  to  be  found  in  the 
fact  that  instead  of  Devon's  being  un-English,  it 
was  superlatively  English  :    it  was  the  ideal,  the 
typical,  the  only  truly  national  England  ;  its  land- 
scape corresponded,  as  did  no  other  in  this  green 
isle,  to  the  traits  of  the  national  character, — for  the 
Englishman  is  not  as  yet  so  highly  and  completely 
finished   as   are  his   sylvan   Wilts   or  his   rolling 
lawns  of  Sussex ;  whereas  in  this  ruder  landscape 
the  contrasts  abound  which  are  prefigured  in  his 
own  nature.     And  a  hand  was  used  with  effect- 
ive, sweeping  gesture,  I  also  remember,  to  include 
the  smoothness  of  a  near  sunny  patch  of  corn,  the 
ruggedness   of    the    distant    hill-lines,  the  broad 


TO  EXETER.  373 

spaces  of  solitude,  and  tlie  mingled  brilliancy  and 
delicacy  in  the  atmosphere,  in  triumphant  proof  of 
this  theory. 

I  also  quite  distinctly  remember,  although  my 
note-book  very  considerately  does  not  record  the 
snub,  that  whoever  was  listener  somewhat  unfeel- 
ingly remarked,  that  the  idea  was  suggestive  and 
possibly  worthy  of  consideration;  but  in  view  of  the 
fact  that  we  were  rapidly  nearing  Exeter  and  the 
time  had  come  to  collect  the  hand-luggage,  it  would 
be  wiser  on  the  whole  to  dismiss  it  and  to  keep, 
instead,  a  sharp  lookout  for  a  porter. 

The  Rougemont  Hotel  was  too  near  the  railway 
station  for  the  usual  cursory  glimpses  one  gains 
from  a  cab  or  an  omnibus  window,  —  glimpses 
which,  like  all  first  impressions,  are  valuable  as  a 
background,  if  only  for  purposes  of  future  com- 
parison or  alteration.  We  had  been  assured,  with 
much  earnestness  of  asseveration,  by  each  one  of 
our  guide-books  in  turn,  that  Exeter  had  preserved, 
in  an  extraordinary  degree,  its  aspect  of  antiquity ; 
that  we  should  find  it,  indeed,  an  epitome  of 
Devon's  former  greatness  and  glory. 

In  our  five  minutes'  walk  from  the  station 
to   a   superlatively   modern   hotel,  the   impression 


374  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

produced  by  this  first  shock  of  contact  was  that  it 
might  have  been  built  yesterday.  The  force  of 
this  impression  was  certainly  not  diminished  by 
the  figure  of  tlie  hotel  porter  in  a  London  livery, 
who  stood  ready  to  grasp  our  hand-luggage,  nor  by 
the  admirably  appointed  elevator,  furnished  with 
enough  mirrors  to  satisfy  even  a  Frenclmian's 
vanity,  nor  by  the  large,  airy,  and  elaborately  up- 
holstered apartment  into  which  we  were  ushered. 
In  themselves  there  is  nothing,  to  even  a  senti- 
mental pair  of  tourists,  positively  offensive  in  easy- 
chairs  or  in  a  spring-mattress.  Boston,  a  little 
later,  at  luncheon,  formulated  both  our  disappoint- 
ment and  our  subsequent  appeasement,  as  he  took 
his  experimental  sip  of  the  ox-tail  soup. 

"  After  all,  a  good  soup  does  tempt  one  to  put 
up  with  civilization." 

"  Yes,"  I  replied ;  "  at  its  best  and  at  close 
quarters  civilization  is,  perhaps,  an  improvement 
on  hoary  antiquity." 

We  were  soon  to  find,  however,  that  Exeter  was 
as  rich  in  hoary  antiquity  as  in  the  latest  experi- 
ments in  civilization  for  subduing  man  by  making 
him  comfortable. 

An  hour  after  luncheon,  as  we  turned  away  from 


TO  EXETER.  375 

the  glaring  brick  fagade  of  the  Rougemont  towards 
the  city's  thoroughfares,  we  had  left  in  the  twink- 
ling of  an  eye  three  hundred  years  —  nay,  five  — 
behind  us,  and  were  in  the  heart  of  the  grandly 
beautiful  ancient  city.  The  antique  picturesque- 
ness  of  Exeter,  it  was  obvious  at  the  very  outset  of 
our  tour  of  observation,  was  too  abundantly  rich 
in  a  sense  of  its  own  completeness  to  be  either  coy 
or  secretive.  Instead  of  one's  having  to  seek  for 
the  jewels  of  the  lovely  old  city  among  its  dung- 
hills, its  glories  are  set  in  lustrous  couspicuousness 
in  the  very  centre  of  its  crown.  High  Street,  the 
city's  main  thoroughfare,  is  as  crowded  with  its 
multitudinous  collection  of  old  houses,  quaint 
churches,  enticing  low  shops,  and  with  the  em- 
broideries of  its  carvings,  as  an  over-filled  museum. 
The  houses,  in  the  variety  and  diversity  of  their 
architectural  plan  and  arrangement  and  in  the 
lovely  blending  of  their  sad  soft  colors,  can  best, 
perhaps,  be  likened  to  a  collection  of  finely  pre- 
served old  portraits,  on  whose  garb  and  facial  ex- 
pression the  seal  of  the  long-ago  centuries  has 
set  its  mark  of  remoteness. 

It  is  unquestionably,  I  should  say,  the  most  pictur- 
esque thoroughfare  in  England.     This  superlative 


376  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

degree  of  pre-eminence  it  maintains,  perhaps,  be- 
cause of  its  possessing  two  entirely  opposite  traits, 
—  it  strikes  you  as  being  at  once  the  oldest 
and  also  the  youngest  of  streets.  It  has  possessed 
the  talent  of  preserving,  amid  all  its  ancient  fea- 
tures, the  art  of  looking  perennially  youthful.  In 
our  own  day  it  is  the  busy,  vigorous,  commercial 
air  of  activity  and  prosperity,  —  the  young  blood 
coursing  through  its  old  veins,  —  which  makes  its 
life  seem  sympathetically  modern.  This  charac- 
teristic strikes,  I  fancy,  the  key-note  of  Exeter's 
long-preserved  vigor  of  life ;  she  has  always  been 
in  direct  and  active  response  to  the  stirring  ac- 
tivities of  her  day.  Like  Rome  itself,  her  cities 
have  been  built  and  destroyed,  her  people  have 
been  scattered  and  her  tribes  have  perished,  and 
yet  she  has  lived  on,  renewing,  phcenix-like,  her 
youth  and  her  vigor.  The  city,  as  a  whole,  pos- 
sesses this  dual  aspect :  it  sits  on  its  hills  proudly, 
nobly,  with  an  air  of  unshaken  permanence  and 
immovable  stability,  with  something  of  the  pride 
and  the  conscious  dignity  of  the  unconquered  and 
unconquerable,  —  an  attitude  and  bearing  we  are 
apt  to  believe  belonged  to  the  proud  and  passionate 
feudal  towns,  which  they  maintained  as  their  heritage 


TO  EXETER.  377 

of  heroism  ;  yet  the  city's  heart,  the  centre  of  its 
busy  frame,  pulsates  with  modern  life,  and  is  visi- 
bly thrilled  with  the  modern  movement.  It  is  this 
union  of  antiquity  and  modernness  which  invests 
Exeter  with  the  qualities  and  character  usually 
found  only  in  capitals.  More  than  any  other  Eng- 
lish city  did  Exeter  impress  us  as  an  independent, 
autocratic  city,  one  more  used  to  wearing  a  crown 
than  to  bowing  before  another,  —  a  kingly  city,  in 
other  words,  accustomed  to  meeting  sovereigns  on 
an  equal  footing. 

The  culminating  point  of  the  picturesqueness 
of  High  Street  is  the  beautiful  Guildhall,  with  its 
spacious  Elizabethan  colonnade,  which  projects, 
with  its  four  grand  columns,  into  the  crowded 
street.  The  eye  has  endless  sport  and  delight  in 
deciphering  the  worn  figures,  in  plunging  into  the 
fine  shadows  made  by  the  overhanging  galleries, 
and  in  resting  on  the  noble  mass  as  it  proudly 
steps  forth  among  the  meagre  nineteenth-century 
buildings,  with  their  superficial  smirk  and  preten- 
tiousness. Among  the  many  other  rich  and  well- 
preserved  treasures  with  which  Exeter  abounds,  is 
an  ideally  perfect  Elizabethan  house  in  the  cathedral 
close.    Its  two-storied  projecting  casements,  entirely 


378  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

filled  with  the  diminutive  glass  panes  of  the  period, 
is  said,  by  its  proud  possessors,  to  be  the  only  house 
of  similar  design  in  perfect  preservation  in  Eng- 
land. The  house  is  now  a  photograph-shop ;  and 
its  enlightened  owner  delights  in  showing  an  upper 
chamber,  panelled  to  the  ceilings  with  rare  oak 
carvings,  above  which,  in  the  frieze,  are  most  of  the 
famous  arms  of  the  English  past  and  present  peer- 
age ;  for  this  upper  chamber  was  once  the  famous 
Exeter  club-room,  and  has  resounded  to  the  wit 
of  Sidney,  to  the  gayety  of  Raleigh,  and  to  the 
grave  eloquence  of  Drake.  The  smallness  of  the 
chamber,  its  rich  yet  severe  finish,  and  its  sugges- 
tion of  cosiness  and  comfort  were  better  than 
pages  of  history  to  picture  the  intimacy  and  the 
jollity  of  those  bygone  days,  when  the  great  and 
famous  were  not  scattered  about  in  large  cities  nor 
lost  in  giant  club-houses,  but  met  above  an  ale- 
house to  plan  their  brave  schemes  of  adventure  and 
to  laugh  and  sing  as  the  cup  went  round. 

Exeter  is  so  rich  in  the  consciousness  of  its  dra- 
matic and  romantic  career,  that  the  fact  of  its 
being  a  cathedral  city  at  all  appears  to  be  merely 
a  matter  of  detail.  It  can,  indeed,  afford  to  regard 
as  secondary  in  importance  that  which  in  other 


TO  EXETER.  379 

cathedral  towns  is  the  sole  reason  of  their  exist- 
ence ;  yet  Exeter  Cathedral  is  such  a  priceless 
piece  of  splendor,  such  a  truly  royal  ecclesiastical 
jewel,  that  it  might  well  serve  as  the  unique  and 
solitary  glory  of  a  city's  boastful  pride. 

A  very  obvious  part  of  the  charm  of  Exeter 
Cathedral  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  has  to  be  sought 
for.  It  is  so  well  and  dexterously  concealed  from 
view,  as  one  passes  along  High  Street,  that  one 
might  be  some  days  in  town  without  so  much  as 
suspecting  that  one  of  the  finest  cathedrals  in 
England  was  a  near  neighbor.  It  was  almost  by 
chance,  I  remember,  that  as  we  turned  into  a  long 
quaint  alley-way  filled  up  with  little  low  shops,  we 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  green  plot  of  grass  and  some 
trees  in  the  distance.  Our  guiding  instinct  divined 
these  to  be  the  cathedral  close.  The  crooked 
alley-way,  with  its  jumble  of  lurking  recesses,  gay 
shops,  and  overshadowing  projections,  made  the 
wide,  airily  open  close,  with  its  beautiful  assem- 
blage of  old  houses  and  the  grand  cathedral,  set 
like  some  Eastern  potentate  in  the  midst  of  his 
silent  court,  doubly  effective  and  impressive. 
There  is  a  wonderfully  appealing  and  persistent 
charm  in  such  Old- World  contrasts ;  the  beautiful  is 


380  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

rendered  doubly  attractive  by  the  innocent  deceits 
and  the  various  devices  which  time  and  happy  ac- 
cident together  have  arranged  as  a  part  of  the  set- 
ting of  the  scene.  One  comes  to  the  point,  at  the 
last,  of  finding  an  alluring  coquetry  in  every  crooked 
alley-way  and  dusky  opening.  In  Exeter  this  spe- 
cies of  what  might  be  termed  flirting  with  chance 
may  be  carried  on  to  a  most  unlimited  extent ;  for 
the  city  abounds  in  wanton  little  streets,  in  mys- 
terious turnings  and  romantic  alley-ways,  that  end 
by  leading  one  into  a  maze  of  adventure.  But  the 
king  of  surprises  holds  his  court  in  the  cathedral 
close.  No  street  was  ever  made  up  of  such  an 
innocent  collection  of  projecting  casements  and 
unsuspicious-looking  windows  as  the  one  that  leads 
to  the  feet  of  the  grand  towers  of  the  cathedral. 
Walking  forward  towards  these  towers  which  flank 
the  cathedral  like  two  colossal  sentinels,  gradually, 
and  as  if  designed  with  the  utmost  skill  and  art  so 
as  to  insure  this  slow  first  view,  the  path  along  the 
greensward  leads  one  gently  to  the  grand  fagade, 
and  there  you  take  your  first  full  view  of  the 
glorious  front.  There  are  first  impressions  and 
first  impressions,  as  there  are  cathedrals  and  cathe- 
drals ;  there  are  impressions  that  are  doomed  to 


TO  EXETER.  381 

fall  into  the  shadowy  background  of  disillusion,  as 
there  are  cathedrals  which,  like  many  another 
strong  and  beautiful  experience,  gather  in  volume 
of  effect  as  the  after-knowledge  of  their  greatness 
deepens.  But  before  some  of  the  great  and  glorious 
triumphs  of  art,  the  first  and  the  last  view  of  their 
beauty  remains  the  same  ;  their  all-conquering  love- 
liness brings  an  overmastering  ecstasy  of  delight. 
A  certain  strong  and  vivid  current  of  emotion  is 
sure,  under  the  right  conditions,  to  accompany 
such  a  moment.  For  art  and  music  have  this  in 
common,  that  th"eir  most  triumphant  harmonies 
produce  a  like  physical  effect;  the  breath  comes 
swifter,  the  eyes  unconsciously  moisten,  and  the 
throat  is  seized  upon  by  that  delightful  emotional 
clutch  which  paralyzes  speech  and  action.  It  was 
such  an  effect  as  this  that  Exeter  produced  on  me. 
It  was  the  first  and  only  English  cathedral  I  had 
seen  that  brought  with  it  an  overwhelming  feeling 
of  rapture.  The  delight  and  joy  in  its  beauty 
marked  the  moment  as  an  epoch  in  pleasurable 
experience.  It  was  a  moment  to  be  classed  with 
the  San  Sisto,  with  the  Venus  di  Milo,  and  with 
Schubert's  Unfinished  Symphony  moments. 
To  analyze  the  beauties  of  Exeter  is  only  to  add 


382  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

another  note  to  one's  joy  in  them,  their  quality  and 
rarity  being  of  such  an  order  as  to  warrant  one's 
cooler  admiration.  The  front  is  as  unique  in  design 
as  it  is  architecturally  beautiful.  There  is  that 
rarest  of  features  in  English  cathedrals,  —  an  elabo- 
rately sculptured  screen,  thoroughly  honest  in  con- 
struction. In  originality  of  conception  this  front 
is  perhaps  unrivalled,  at  least  on  English  soil ; 
there  are  three  receding  stories,  so  admirably  pro- 
portioned as  to  produce  a  beautiful  effect  in  per- 
spective. The  glory  of  the  great  west  window  is 
further  enhanced  by  the  graduated  arcades  which 
have  the  appearance  of  receding  behind  it.  Above 
the  west  window  rises  a  second  and  smJ.ler  tri- 
angular window  in  the  gabled  roof.  Thus  the  tri- 
angular motif  is  sustained  throughout,  from  the 
three  low  doorways  in  the  screen  up  to  the  far- 
distant  roof.  This  complete  and  harmonious  front 
is  nobly  enriched  by  the  splendid  note  of  contrast 
in  the  two  transeptal  Norman  towers,  whose  mas- 
sive structural  elegance  and  elaborateness  of  detail 
lend  an  extraordinary  breadth  and  solidity  to  the 
edifice. 

The  grandeur  which  distinguishes  the   exterior 
is  only  a  fitting  preparation  for  the  solemnity  and 


TO  EXETER.  383 

splendor  of  the  interior.  Passing  beneath  the 
thickly  massed  sculptures  of  the  low  portals,  the 
effect  of  the  vastness  of  the  nave  is  striking  in  its 
immensity.  Curiously  enough,  in  this  instance, 
this  effect  of  immensity  is  not  due  to  an  un- 
broken stretch  of  nave-aisles  or  to  a  lengthy 
procession  of  pier-arches,  but  to  the  magnificent 
sweep  of  the  unencumbered  vaulting  in  the  roof. 
An  organ  screen  intercepts  the  line  of  vision  at  the 
entrance  to  the  choir.  This,  however,  is  the  sole 
obstruction  which  the  eye  encounters.  Above,  the 
great  roof,  with  its  unbroken  three  hundred  feet 
of  interlacing  lines,  rises  like  some  mighty  forest, 
its  airy  loftiness  giving  to  the  entire  interior 
a  certain  open-air  atmosphere  of  breadth  and 
vastness. 

For  once,  I  fear,  our  sense  of  duty  slumbered. 
Architecturally,  we  may  be  said  to  have  been  dere- 
lict in  assiduous  devotion  to  the  inexhaustible 
beauties  of  this  wonderful  cathedral.  The  zest 
which  had  characterized  our  earlier  attacks  on 
the  architectural  peculiarities  of  Winchester  or 
Wells  had  given  way,  before  the  enrapturing  per- 
fections of  this  interior,  to  the  lethargy  of  a  purely 
abstract  and  gesthetic  enjoyment.     We  read  from 


384  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

the  pages  of  Murray,  and  we  heard  from  the  lips 
of  the  verger,  that  the  geometric  traceries  in  the 
windows  were  of  the  very  rarest  order  of  perfection, 
that  the  windows  were  themselves  extraordinarily 
large  and  pure  in  design,  that  the  roof  was  per- 
haps excelled  by  no  other  in  its  lightness  and  grace 
or  in  the  beauty  of  its  slender  vaulting  shafts  and 
in  their  delicately  carved  bosses,  that  these  bosses 
in  their  variety  and  carving  were  marvels  of  sculp- 
ture, also  that  the  transformation  of  the  interior 
from  the  Norman  to  the  elaborate  Geometric  was  a 
triumph  of  completeness  and  finish  surpassing  the 
less  thorough  reconstruction  of  Winchester  and 
Gloucester ;  but  we  read  and  heard  all  this  as  in 
a  dream. 

What  most  deeply  concerned  us  was  the  desire 
to  secure  an  uninterrupted  session  of  contemplative 
enjoyment.  We  had  lost  our  hearts  to  the  beauty 
of  the  cathedral,  and  cared  little  or  nothing  for  a 
clever  dissecting  of  its  parts.  We  came  again  and 
again ;  and  it  was  the  glory  of  the  cathedral  as  a 
whole  —  its  expressive,  noble  character,  its  breadth 
and  grandeur,  the  poetry  of  its  dusky  aisles,  and 
the  play  of  the  rich  shadows  about  its  massive 
columns  —  that  charmed   and   enchained   us.     It 


TO  EXETER,  385 

was  one  of  the  few  English  cathedrals,  we  said  to 
each  other,  that  possess  the  Old-World  continental 
charm,  the  charm  of  perpetual  entertainment,  and 
whose  beauty  has  just  the  right  quality  of  richness 
and  completeness  to  evoke  an  intense  and  personal 
sympathy  ;  for  in  all  the  greatest  triumphs  of  art 
there  is  something  supremely  human. 

Our  last  visit  was  like  a  farewell  to  a  friend. 
The  occasion  was  the  more  sorrowful  because  we 
knew  that  it  was  not  only  our  last  of  Exeter,  but 
also  that  it  was  our  last  cathedral.  The  brief  half- 
hour  was  imbued,  therefore,  with  the  sentiment  and 
the  solemnity  of  a  final  parting  As  if  in  response 
to  our  emotion,  the  organ  poured  forth  a  mournful 
tender  groaning,  the  twilight  shrouded  the  interior 
with  a  silvery  pallor,  and  the  faces  on  the  tombs 
seemed  to  smile  forth  upon  us  a  melancholy  bene- 
diction of  peace. 


26 


386  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 


CHAPTER  XYII. 

FAEEWELL  TO  BALLAD. 

T  T  ZE  felt  that  if  only  in  justice  to  Ballad,  after 
his  five  days'  imprisonment  in  the  Exeter 
stables,  we  should  all  take  a  bit  of  an  outing  into 
the  open  country  before  the  moment  came  when  he 
was  to  take  one  road  and  we  another.  It  was  use- 
less to  deny  that  to  two  of  us,  at  least,  this  inevitable 
separation  was  about  to  bring  sadness  in  its  train. 
To  part  with  a  friend  is  bad  enough ;  but  all  human 
partings  have  at  least  this  drop  of  honey  in  the 
bitter  cup,  —  there  is  always  mingled  with  the  grief 
the  cheering  hope  of  a  future  meeting.  But  with 
even  one's  most  intimate  friends  in  the  animal 
kingdom  there  can  come  no  such  soothing  comfort. 
To  bid  farewell  to  a  dog  or  to  a  beloved  horse  is  the 
same  as  to  bury  him,  —  the  world  is  so  wide  and 
men  are  so  fickle.  The  opportunity  is  always  open, 
of  course,  to  prolong  an  intimacy  with  a  four-footed 
companion  by  buying  him.   But  friendship  thus  paid 


FARE  WEIL  TO  BALLAD.  387 

for  usually,  I  find,  ends  as  do  all  such  mercenary 
relationships ;  when  the  period  of  cooling  sets  in 
sentiment  evaporates,  and  the  question  of  how  much 
remains  to  be  made  out  of  a  poor  bargain  is  the 
ultimate  result  of  all  the  fine  frenzy.  We  had  con- 
cluded, therefore,  rather  to  part  with  Ballad  than  to 
run  the  risk  of  tiring  of  him.  We  preferred  to  leave 
him  behind,  that  he,  like  the  other  features  and 
incidents  of  our  charming  journey,  might  remain 
as  an  unalterable  part  of  the  delight  still  to  come, 

—  the  joy  we  were  yet  to  have  in  retrospect. 
There  were  two  or  three  days  spent  in  exploring 

the  country  about  Exeter  ;  there  were  mornings  in 
the  lovely  valley  of  the  Exe,  and  a  day  and  night 
given  to  Chagford,  a  wonderful  little  village  set  on 
a  spur  of  the  Dartmoor  hills.  These  little  trips  gave 
us  a  series  of  delightful  glimpses  of  Devon  scenery, 

—  of  its  rusticity  and  its  wildness,  of  the  charm  of 
its  woodlands  and  the  grandeur  of  its  noble  hill- 
country.  It  was  as  if  we  had  undertaken,  with 
premeditation,  a  review  of  Devonshire's  perfections. 
Nature  and  the  season  were  in  conspiracy  to  make 
these  final  days  the  harder.  We  were  leaving  a 
land  of  pure  gold.  The  grain  covered  the  fields  like 
a  yellow  cloud.     Here  and  there  over  the  meadows 


388  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

were  signs  that  already  the  harvest  was  garnered, 
amber  mounds  dotting  the  plains  we  passed  on  the 
last  of  our  drives.  The  fields  along  the  hill-sides 
were  vocal  with  the  sound  of  the  mowers  moving 
their  scythes  in  rhythmic  measure;  and  this  mu- 
sic, which  followed  us  into  the  thickly  peopled 
Exeter  streets,  reminded  us  that  if  charming  tours, 
like  life  itself,  must  come  to  an  end,  at  least  the 
harvest  of  pleasure  is  not  over  with  the  ending,  but 
may  be  garnered  and  husbanded  for  future  use  and 
delight. 

On  one  particularly  sunny  morning  a  sad  little 
procession  wended  its  way  to  the  Exeter  station,  — 
two,  that  is,  out  of  the  five  composing  the  company, 
were  sad.  The  other  three,  it  is  to  be  feared,  took 
a  merely  perfunctory  interest  in  the  proceedings; 
for,  like  mutes  at  a  funeral,  the  chief  reason  for  their 
being  with  us  at  all  was  their  hope  of  making  some- 
thing out  of  the  mourners.  These  unfeeling  three 
were  the  hotel  porter,  who  had  come  with  us  that 
he  might  point  out  the  man  who  had  placed  Ballad 
in  his  box-stall  in  the  train ;  the  hostler  who  had 
attended  to  Ballad's  physical  wants  while  stopping 
at  the  Rougemont ;  and  the  usual  odd  man  who 


FAREWELL  TO  BALLAD.  389 

never  fails  to  make  his  appearance  in  England 
when  anything  unusual  takes  place,  —  the  man  who 
never  does  anything  in  particular,  but  who  always 
contrives  to  get  the  fee  for  something  that  some 
one  else  has  done.  With  so  many  escorts,  much 
time  was  lost  in  coming  to  a  decision  on  any  point ; 
and  it  was  quite  by  chance  that  we  found  ourselves 
close  to  the  freight-van  in  which  Ballad  was  about 
to  be  whirled  away  from  us  to  Chichester.  A  door 
was  opened,  a  window  unhinged,  a  considerate 
guard  lifted  me  into  the  van,  and  behold,  Ballad's 
sensitive,  high-bred  face  was  confronting  me.  At 
the  first  he  received  us  with  a  start  of  affright, 
with  quivering  nostrils  and  high-arched  ears ;  but 
at  the  sound  of  our  voices  the  trembling  ceased, 
his  dark  eyes  lanced  a  glance  of  recognition,  and  to 
my  caressive  touch  he  responded  by  an  answering 
whinny  of  glad  greeting.  It  was  hardly  to  be 
expected  that  the  moment  was  as  freighted  with 
importance  to  him  as  it  was  to  us.  Even  solitary 
confinement  in  a  box-stall  did  not  seem  to  have 
impressed  him  as  the  preliminary  of  our  separation. 
Animals  have  a  way  of  accepting  the  unusual, 
which  in  man  would  be  termed  philosophically  stoi- 
cal.    I,  for  one,  had  no  stoicism  at  my  command. 


390  CATHEDRAL  DAYS. 

I  will  not  say  that  my  emotion  unmanned  me,  —  I 
did  not  drop  a  tear ;  but  I  am  quite  willing  to 
confess  that  I  left  the  print  of  a  very  grateful  and 
regretful  kiss  on  Ballad's  high  white  forehead. 

I  have  sometimes  wondered  during  the  past 
winter,  as  I  have  sat  seeing  in  the  flames  of  the 
open  fire  the  vision  of  those  six  weeks  of  pleasure, 
whether  Ballad  retains  a  vestige  of  the  memory  of 
our  happy  time  together;  whether  his  adventures 
as  an  experienced  traveller  have  brought  him  wis- 
dom, or  whether,  like  so  many  another  tourist,  he 
carried  no  more  home  with  him  than  he  started  out 
with.  His  gain  must  ever  remain  more  or  less  a 
matter  of  speculation  ;  but  this  I  know,  that  in  re- 
turning to  the  world  the  commonplace  and  the  prac- 
tical have  been  vastly  less  tedious  because  of  our 
gay  holiday.  Life,  it  appears  to  me,  may  be  made 
very  endurable  indeed  if  its  pleasures  are  rightly 
managed ;  and  surely,  those  pleasures  are  best 
that  linger  longest  in  the  memory,  that  continue  to 
vibrate,  like  cathedral  chimes,  long  after  they  have 
ceased  to  be,  and  that  are  the  more  complete  for 
being  enjoyed  with  the  best  of  companions. 


THE    END. 


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